


Sins of the Father

by wewriteletters



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Assault, Broken Bones, Coma, Gen, Guilt, Hallucinations, Head Injury, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Medical Procedures, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other additional characters to be added, Recovery, Revenge, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewriteletters/pseuds/wewriteletters
Summary: "The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children."- The Merchant of Venice, Act Three, Scene FiveMalcolm goes for a walk one night, only to come face to face with the father of one of The Surgeon's victims. Needless to say it doesn't end well.
Comments: 61
Kudos: 234





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been in my drafts since December and I finally decided to throw on an ending so I could post it. I'm still trying to work through writers block with Bring Him Home and what better way than writing ANOTHER Malcolm whump fic? Hope you guys enjoy, I am very proud of parts of this fic and other parts...less so lmao.

Malcolm considered himself to be observant. He kind of had to be for his job. It wasn’t just being observant of people’s expressions and behaviors, but of his surroundings; you never know when a suspect might come up behind you. 

But that night, he had just been so exhausted and so frustrated, he didn’t even notice when the red sedan that had been sitting across from his apartment all day finally turned on and followed him as he walked down the street. 

Malcolm wasn’t sure what the exact time was; he had left his phone and watch back home. He just knew it was late, late enough that even the normally bustling streets of his neighborhood were almost completely deserted. He hadn’t been able to sleep; his night terrors had been getting worse lately and tonight he had woken up from one that was so vivid and horrifying, he immediately left the apartment, stopping only to put on shoes and a jacket over his pajamas and grab his keys so he could get back in. Malcolm would later wish he had just stayed home, but in that moment his apartment felt too haunted by shadows and ghosts and he needed to get away from it. 

The day hadn’t been much better. The case he was working on seemed impossible, it was flu season so everyone at work was sick and in a horrible mood, and he had gotten into an argument with his mother at lunch after she pressed too much about why he hadn’t gone on any dates since he came home. Malcolm ended up leaving the precinct early in the evening, ignoring Gil’s attempt to give him a ride home. He spent the rest of the evening trying to relax, but it felt impossible, so he ended up going over the case file and his notes for the thousandth time, only to become even more frustrated when he still wasn’t making any progress on finding a lead. 

Malcolm finally just went to bed, not even bothering with dinner. After tossing and turning for ages, he finally fell asleep, only to be awakened by the night terror that caused him to now be outside in the middle of the night, with only a light jacket and his short sleeved pajama top to shield him from the forty degree temperature. He thought maybe the cold would help clear his mind, but so far it was just making him even more uncomfortable and agitated. 

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking when he heard a car pull up and stop behind him. He turned his head, eyes instinctively flinching away from the brightness of the headlights. He silently cursed at the driver; just another asshole New Yorker who thought they could drive however they want. 

The sudden light made Malcolm aware of his surroundings. At some point he must have stopped paying attention to where he was walking, because he had no idea where he was currently. There were no people around, that was for sure, and the lights were off in all of the buildings surrounding him. He wasn’t even really on the sidewalk anymore; he had turned into a large alleyway, the car now blocking the path he had come from. He instinctively reached for his phone before cursing again and remembering he left it back at his apartment. 

He heard the car's engine turn off and flinched, not sure how to react. When no one got out of the car, Malcolm just kept walking forward. He figured it was probably some teen who needed a secluded space to smoke pot or something. He had bigger things to worry about, like figuring out how long he had been out and how far he had gone from his apartment. But before he could even get ten steps in, he heard the car door open, and footsteps quickly approaching behind him.

Malcolm should have seen the attack coming. On any other night he would have seen it coming. But that night, he was exhausted, confused, and probably bordering on dissociation. So when something heavy slammed into the back of his head, all he could do was fall face first onto the hard concrete, his breath immediately leaving his lungs as he scrambled to collect himself. Another hit across his neck rendered him immobile for only a moment, but it was enough time for whoever was attacking him to pull him up off the ground and pin him against the brick wall of one of the buildings surrounding the alleyway. 

Malcolm groaned, feeling blood already dripping out of his nose from where it had smashed into the ground. Just his luck that the night he got mugged was the night he actually had left all his valuables at home. He was weighing whether or not his assailant would believe that his jacket actually cost eight hundred dollars, when it dawned on Malcolm that the man was speaking to him. Or at least trying to; Malcolm’s ears were still ringing and the fact that his head had hit the side of the building hard did nothing for his already jumbled thoughts. 

“For fucks sake, you better not be dying on me already.”

Malcolm shook his head, blinking his eyes to try and focus on what was happening in front of him. His double vision finally corrected itself, allowing him to actually view the man holding him against the wall. He was older, probably around Gil’s age, with graying brown hair and an expression of pure contempt on his face. He was holding his right arm over Malcolm’s chest, keeping him against the wall, with his feet barely touching the ground. The fact that he could also tell the man was a good half a foot taller and hundred pounds heavier did little to ease Malcolm’s already racing mind. He knew he wasn’t exactly scrawny himself and he actually had a good amount of self defense training, between what he learned at the FBI and what he’d picked up after years on the job, but his mind was still foggy and he struggled when trying to think of a way to get the older man off of him. 

“Malcolm? Come on, look at me.” 

How did he know his name? A million thoughts were racing through Malcolm’s head as he tried desperately to find any familiarity in the man’s face. He was clearly angry; was he a suspect in the case they were working? Someone Malcolm had helped arrest who somehow made bail and was now seeking revenge? Maybe he knew about his mother’s wealth and wanted to try and get a ransom out of her? Malcolm still couldn’t even see him very well; his head had started drooping down, the throbbing in the base of his skull just getting worse. He struggled to get any words out, but between the pain and the fact that the arm across his chest was constricting his lungs and making it very difficult to breathe deeply enough to speak, all he managed to get out was a small “w-what?”

This was clearly not the type of answer his assailant was looking for, as he used his left hand to grab Malcolm by the chin and force his head up. The motion made the pain reverberate across his entire skull and he struggled to keep himself from throwing up. He did his best to focus his eyes on the man’s face, growing desperate to recognize him so he at least had an idea of what he wanted. 

“You really don’t even know who I am? Figures...of course you’re too much of a selfish brat to care about anyone but yourself. You probably forgot about her years ago, probably didn’t even care about her in the first place.”

Now Malcolm was really confused. He couldn’t even really feel offended at the insults, he was too curious about figuring out who exactly this man was. Although he realized he should probably be putting more effort into figuring out how to get out of his hold. The man was just getting angrier and angrier and even in this hazy state Malcolm knew that wasn’t a good sign. For the moment, both his hands were still free, he had just been so out of it between the blow to his head and the man’s face being so close to his own that he hadn’t even attempted to try and defend himself. He knew he needed to act fast, before the man got anymore violent. 

Malcolm gathered up the strength he still had and smashed his right fist against the man’s face. It was an awkward angel, considering he was practically leaning against Malcolm, but whatever contact he made was enough to cause the man to curse and step back, the arm that had been keeping Malcolm in place going up to hold his left cheek. 

Malcolm took the opportunity to run as fast as he could. He turned to go further down the alley, since the car was still blocking most of the way he had come in from. He just prayed there wouldn’t be a dead end or he’d at least run into another person who could call for help. 

Unfortunately for Malcolm, the man recovered much quicker than he expected. Before he could even get five yards ahead, he felt a body jump on top of him and tackle him to the ground. If Malcolm’s face had hurt from when it was slammed into the pavement before, it was nothing compared to the absolute agony shooting through his entire body as the man forced his entire weight against Malcolm. He had instinctively put his right arm out to break the fall and only realized what a mistake it was when he heard the snap of bone as the limb twisted under his chest. 

Malcolm began involuntarily screaming. He tried desperately to get his arm out from under him, but trying to move it just made the pain worse. Any compurse he might have still had was gone as he desperately struggled against the man who was still on top of him. The wind was knocked out of his lungs and he could feel his chest constricting against the pressure. He couldn’t breathe! He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he was in so much pain-

A fist grabbing his head by the hair and pulling it up only to smash it against the pavement again snapped him out of it. Or rather, it dazed him so much, he stopped screaming, stopped feeling the pain because, for several seconds, he couldn’t feel anything. 

His assailant took this opportunity to roughly pull Malcolm over and on to his back, as he bent over the smaller man, straddling his chest. Malcolm’s right arm flopped to his side and even from the corner of his eye, he could see the horrifying and unnatural angle it was bent at. The sight alone was enough to make the nausea he was already feeling ten times worse.

“That was pretty stupid of you, Malcolm. You’d think with a Harvard education, you’d be a bit smarter,” the man growled. If he had been angry before, he was absolutely furious now. 

How did this stranger know so much about him? Malcolm knew he needed to focus on trying to get up but he was still so confused. The blow to the head kept him more or less subdued but he still managed to choke out a small: “I don’t know-who...w-who you are. Please, let me go. I won’t go to the police, we can just forget this happened-”

“Shut up! Dear God, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” The range in the man’s face was so palpable, Malcolm almost thought he was going to kill him right then and there. “Abigail O'Connor...Does that ring a bell?”

The name penetrated through the layers of fog slowly overtaking his brain. Of course he knew Abigail O’Connor. His father’s twenty second victim and, at only seventeen years old, the youngest. The Surgeon had skinned her alive; one of the most horrific and painful ways he had discovered to torture and kill a victim. Malcolm knew plenty of other things about Abigail. He knew she was planning on going to school to become a veterinarian. He knew she played soccer and volunteered at an animal shelter on weekends. He knew that the day she died, she had plans to see _Titanic_ with her friends. 

He knew these kinds of things about every single one of his father's victims. Malcolm didn’t want to just know their names, he wanted to know who they were. His mother hated the obsession he had with it as a teenager. She told him he was just looking for ways to hurt himself. And she hadn’t been wrong; memorizing everything he could about the people his father killed acted as a sort of penance he could do. Something for him to do as punishment for when he still went to visit his father, still loved him, in spite of all the horror and pain he had caused. 

It probably hadn’t been a healthy coping strategy. But now his dedication might just be the thing that meant the difference between life and death for himself.

The man above him was Eli, Abigail's father. Malcolm didn’t know him by face the way he knew the victims, but growing up he had heard plenty about him. Although his daughter was one of the last to be killed by The Surgeon, Eli had spent every waking moment between her death and the night Doctor Whitly was arrested on the national news, grieving Abigail's murder and criticizing the NYPD for letting a mad man run lose for so long. After The Surgeon had been arrested and tried, he became the most vocal critic of Doctor Whitly being committed to a psychiatric hospital rather than prison (or being executed, as Eli would prefer it). 

And he absolutely hated the Whitly family. Which, Malcolm figured, he had a right to. But that fact did not bode well for his chances of survival. It seemed obvious Eli wanted some revenge, but Malcolm knew it had to go deeper than that. Why wait twenty years? 

“Eli, I c-can’t breathe. Get off and we can talk.”

“If you can talk you can breathe,” Eli snapped. Malcolm’s comment apparently enraged him too, as the next thing he knew Eli was grabbing his right forearm and squeezing it, hard. The pain in his arm had somewhat dulled after his head was hit, but the pressure brought it back instantaneously. Malcolm screamed, tears involuntarily streaming down his cheeks. His reaction just angered Eli more, as the next thing Malcolm knew the man was dropping his arm and using that hand to clamp his mouth shut, as the other reached for something tied to his waist. 

“If you can scream, you definitely can breath.” The words came out in a hiss as Eli leaned even closer to Malcolm’s face. “But you better keep quiet. If you had just stayed in your nice little apartment, we wouldn’t have to be here right now. You could have screamed as loud as you wanted there.”

Malcolm blocked out the pain as much as he possibly could to try and focus on what Eli was saying. Had Eli been planning to break into his apartment that night? Now Malcolm wasn’t sure if his decision to take a walk was a saving grace or an action that signed his death certificate. Surely he’d have an easier time alerting someone else to what was happening out in the open like they were, but at least if Eli attacked him at home he would have had his phone and maybe he could have gotten a hold of the taser he kept in her bedside drawer (not as powerful as the gun he carried for ten years while with the FBI, but Malcolm figured with his line of work he should keep at least one weapon that was from the twenty first century). 

The object Eli had been reaching for suddenly came into Malcolm’s vision; a large, hunting knife. As he removed his hand from Malcolm’s mouth, allowing him to take a much needed breath, he just as quickly placed the blade against his neck. The cold metal pressed in just hard enough to cause pressure without actually cutting and the few gulps of air Malcolm had managed to take were instantly choked back in. “Scream again, and I’ll watch you bleed out right here and now. Can’t be much of a smart ass if you don’t have a throat.”

The fear coursing through Malcolm’s brain was making it difficult to remain in “profiler mode” but he knew his only chance of survival was to somehow talk down the vengeful father currently looking at him with a kind of rage Malcolm had never even seen in all his years on the job. Two decades of pain were manifesting into pure contempt, and Malcolm was the target of all of it.

“It’s Abi’s birthday today. She would have been 37.” Eli somehow still managed to keep his eyes burning with fury, although Malcolm could hear the slight quiver in his voice. He tucked away that bit of information; it explained why he picked today at least. Malcolm would take anything he could get. “Probably married. I’d have a couple of grandkids. You know she was my only child, right? Your father robbed me and my wife of a future with our daughter, with her children. It doesn’t seem fair that The Surgeon's kids get to move on with their lives as if nothing happened. You and your sister have your careers, your friends, your family, your wealth, and you don’t deserve any of it. It’s not fair. You just get to keep on living while she just lies in her grave.” 

The mention of his sister sent Malcolm into his own rage. All the restraint he had been exerting in an effort to keep his expression neutral was thrown out the window, as Malcolm found the strength to finally force his left arm into motion. He didn’t even care about the knife anymore, the veiled threat against Ainsley’s life the only thing he could focus on. “Don’t you think about touching her!” He forced the words out as sharply as he could manage and tried to grab at the knife by the hilt with his left hand.

Unfortunately for Malcolm, he wasn’t exactly operating at full strength, although the thought of this man going after his sister next gave him a bit of renewed energy, and Eli was able to keep his grip on the weapon. Using his own left hand, he pried Malcolm’s fingers off his wrist and snapped the pointer finger as he forced his arm back back to the ground. Another scream ripped through Malcolm’s throat as the pain shot up his wrist and all the way through his shoulder. Before he could even gather his thoughts, the knife came down across his face.

For a horrifying second, Malcolm thought Eli might have taken out his left eye; the line of vision from it was slowly turning black. But he soon realized it was due to the blood gushing out of his forehead and pouring down that side of his face. He obviously couldn’t see the wound himself, but he figured it made a bridge over his eyebrow and around the side of his head, towards his ear. If both his arms weren’t currently screaming in pain, he might have noticed the horrible stinging sensation it left. 

“You worthless piece of shit, you’re lucky I don’t kill you right now!” Eli was restraining himself from screaming and the quietness in his voice somehow made the words even more terrifying. Through the pain, Malcolm registered the threat. So far he had made two direct threats against his life, but hadn't acted on either. Eli didn’t want him dead. At least not yet. “I’m not going after your sister, not any time soon. Why rob her of the experience of losing the person she loves most? I’ll enjoy watching her and your bitch mother grieve for you.”

It wasn't promising, but at least Malcolm could now focus more on getting this out alive, without worrying if he had already gotten to his sister. “Eli...please,” Malcolm begged. “Hurting me isn’t going to bring Abigail back...I know you don’t really want to do this.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he snarled.

“I know you held all of this anger in for twenty years.” Malcolm swallowed, trying to keep his focus as best he could. The pain was starting to make his eyes go blurry and he knew if he passed out he wouldn’t be waking up again. “And I can’t imagine how that must feel. But this won’t help you heal-”

Malcolm was cut off by a sudden punch to the face. He must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing he knew, he was laying on his right side and Eli was standing above him. Malcolm tried to gather himself, he needed to take advantage of the fact that the man was no longer directly on top of him and get up, but before he could even try, Eli kicked his chest.

He heard the horrible crack of a rib reverberating in his ears before he even felt the pain. If breathing had been difficult before, it was nearly impossible now. And Eli just kept kicking and kicking and kicking. Malcolm curled up defensively, trying to bring his legs up to his chest to at least provide some protection to his ribs. His right arm wasn’t moving anytime soon, but he was able to cover his head with his left as the kicks made their way up his body, before one landed on his neck. 

Malcolm choked, suddenly completely unable to breathe. A million thoughts began rushing through his head. He was going to die out here. How long would it take for them to find his body? No one knew where he was, he didn’t even know where he was! What if Eli disposed of him somewhere else, what if they never found him? His mother would never get over his death, she’d blame herself for it somehow. Gil would do everything he could to track down his killer but Malcolm didn’t even know if they’d be able to tie Eli to him. For all they knew, it was just a mugging gone wrong. Who was going to take care of Sunshine? What would his father’s reaction be? Why hadn’t he told Dani how much she meant to him? When was the last time he told his mother or sister that he loved them? He didn’t want to die!

Ironically, the thing that forced him back down from his spiraling thoughts was a punch to the face. He was still breathing. Eli hadn’t totally cut off his air supply, although between the broken ribs and the damage to his throat, each breath he took came out more like a gasp or wheeze and hurt immensely. But it was something. 

Unfortunately, he still wasn’t out of the woods. Eli was straddling his chest once again, this time punching him in the face repeatedly. He had no idea how he was still conscious, between the blows and the multiple head injuries he had already Malcolm tried weakly to defend himself with his left arm, but it did little to shield him from the assault. His mouth was filling up with blood and he tried to spit as much out as he could between the punches. He felt Eli’s fist slam directly against his jaw again and again and again. Malcolm tried to turn his head, but he was just met with a final punch that knocked him out for another split second.

When Malcolm opened his eyes again, his body instinctively curled on it’s side. He weakly coughed and gagged, spitting out a mouthful of blood on the sidewalk beside him. That was when he realized, in horror, that there was a hole in his mouth, where one of his upper front teeth should be. For some reason, that detail sent him into even more of a panic, as he tried to swipe his tongue around his mouth to find it while still choking out a mixture of blood and spit. He wondered if he swallowed it or if it was just lost somewhere in the dark alley. Obviously, he had much more pressing concerns, but the tenderness of his upper lip was somehow cutting through the rest of the pain.

Malcolm had barely recovered when Eli was forcing him on his back once again. He tried to remember what they had even been talking about...what had he said to set him off like this? It was clear he had a short fuse and Malcolm guessed he was getting some kind of enjoyment from hurting him, even if that pleasure was masked by the pure rage and hatred in his face.

“You just don’t get it do you! She was seventeen!” Eli hissed so harshly, Malcolm snapped his head back, the sound somehow even worse than the succession of punches that had just been delivered to his face. “She was just a child! Who could do that to a child?”

It took all of Malcolm’s will power not to shout back that he had been just a child too. He was only eleven, and although he was starting to realize he may have played a bigger role in his father's secret life than he originally thought, he was still so young when it all happened. But he knew arguing back would just infuriate the man more, and Malcolm knew he wouldn’t survive another assault like that. He had to figure a way out of this. 

“I know, it’s not fair. Martin Whitly is an evil man and everyday I regret the fact that I didn’t figure out what he was doing sooner.” Malcolm teased out the words, trying to gauge Eli’s reactions in real time. Normally, he had no problem talking down a suspect, even when the suspect was directly threatening him. But this all felt too personal. Eli was too close to him, he couldn’t think properly. He could feel the man’s breath on his skin, the weight of his body on his chest, making every word he said come out in a painful whisper. “And you’re right, I don’t get it! I never will get exactly what you and your family must go through everyday. But think about this logically...I work for the NYPD. They’re not going to rest until they figure out what happened to me. What happens if you get caught? Don’t make your wife go through that.”

Eli shook his head and pulled the knife out once again. “It’s too late. If I don’t do it now...I promised Abi this morning that I’d do this for her.”

Malcolm saw tears well up in his eyes and he almost felt sorry for the man. He tried to get out a reply, but Eli kept going.

“You know, when they found her, she was so cut up, she was unrecognizable? All of the incisions were perfectly straight, made with...surgical precision. But there were so many, you couldn’t even tell it was her. Couldn’t even tell it was a person. They had to match fingerprints from the body to ones pulled from her hairbrush. So my wife and I didn’t even get to see our daughter for a final time. No open casket at the funeral, no real chance to say goodbye.” Malcolm felt the knife press even harder against his neck. Blood began to trickle down his skin. “Maybe you deserve a few scars of your own? Make it so even the people who love you the most have no idea it's your body? She was still alive when your father did all this, she felt everything. You should feel even a fraction of the pain she went through.”

This time, Malcolm could not help himself from responding. It was a last ditch attempt, one more go at trying to relate to Eli before he left him dead in the alley. “You might be a bit late for that.” It was hard to get the words out, between the pain from his injuries and the knife still pressed against his throat. His voice was shaking, but he did his best to force some conviction behind it. “Check-check my arms...They’re pretty faded but you can still see them.” Malcolm knew he’d always see them. No matter how many times Gil reassured them that the scars weren’t visible anymore, he knew he’d never be able to look at his wrists again without the overwhelming feeling of shame, guilt, and frustration, both for what he had done in the past and for the fact that a large part of him wanted to do it again. “I-I wanted to feel the victims pain, I thought I deserved to feel it...I still feel like I deserve it.” Malcolm knew admitting to that was risky, since Eli clearly already agreed with that sentiment and was more than happy to make Malcolm feel that pain, but this was his final chance to try something that might spare his life. “You can kill me, Eli. I don’t even think I could blame you. But I promise you, death would be a blessing compared to the life I live. I torture myself every day for my fathers crimes and it is a thousand times worse than anything you could ever do to me.”

Eli hesitated, and Malcolm had to hold himself back from sighing in relief. He couldn’t risk showing his hand, or even moving that much with the knife still firmly pressed against his throat. He watched the man above him turn his head down, his gaze falling on Malcolm’s left arm. If Malcolm had any strength left, he would have taken the opportunity to catch him off guard and get the knife away. He felt his sleeve be pulled up roughly and suddenly there was a finger stroking across his wrist. It took everything in him to hold back his immediate reaction; to pull his arm away, to force Eli off him, to start sobbing, to vomit. He never let anyone save for his mother, sister, and Gil on a few occasions, see the scars, never mind touch them. It wasn’t like there was much left to feel, besides some small ridges where his skin dipped down a bit, but the sensation of Eli’s hand against his wrist felt even worse than the knife pushed against his neck. 

It felt like an eternity. Malcolm was struggling to keep his eyes open; his head was pounding like someone had taken a hammer and chisel to it and he was still unable to take a deep breath in. He was worried that even if Eli didn’t slit his throat, he would still succumb to his injuries if he went much longer without medical attention. 

“Eli,” Malcolm hissed out. “Please, you don’t have to do this. You’re not a killer. You’re better than Martin Whitly. You think you want to kill me, for your daughter. But if you really want to honor her legacy...don’t make my family go through what yours did.” 

He looked up from Malcolm’s arm, hesitating. The knife moved a hairs length away from his throat. Malcolm took in a shaky breath.

“Hey!” A voice screamed from the end of the alley. “What the Hell are you doing?”

Before Malcolm could even process what was happening, something smashed down against his head. 

And everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long (*shoves Bring Him Home and it's "previously updated on" date to the side). I am a really slow writer and even with some of the free time this quarantine has given me, I still haven't been able to focus much on this. I have a portion of chapter 3 written already so hopefully that update will be sooner. I apologize for any medical inaccuracies but I play Grey's Anatomy rules here; drama trumps medical accuracy. Hope you all enjoy!

When Malcolm opened his eyes again, there was nothing but a blinding, white, light.

“Right pupil is blown, there’s signs of a-

“He needs a CT and an X-Ray for that arm. Tell them to have an OR ready, I’m not risking-”

“GCS was 7 en route, get an intubation kit, we need to secure his airway-”

Malcolm tried to flinch away, from the light, from the noise, from the hands that were suddenly all over him, but he couldn’t move his head. He tried to speak, but something was covering his mouth. Air was being forced down his throat, but it still somehow wasn’t enough to stop the burning in his chest. It was like he was drowning on dry land, a sensation made even worse by the fact that he knew he could breath, knew he was breathing, but no matter how hard he gasped it was never enough.

“He has a collapsed lung, I need a chest tube-”

He couldn’t make sense of the figures above him; everything was swirling together, a watercolor of blue, white, peach, and brown. He wasn’t even sure where he was? Definitely not at home...Maybe he was dreaming? Malcolm certainly felt scared, but it didn’t feel like any night terror he’d had before either. 

“Sir, this is going to hurt for a second but-”

The voices were drifting in and out around him. Malcolm didn’t fully comprehend any of what was being said. It was hard to focus on anything, with how much his lungs were burning and how much his head was pounding and how much his arm was aching-

“Sir, just try to relax. I know this must be scary-”

Malcolm felt a hand wrap around his own and he pulled it back sharply, pain stabbing through his finger as pressure was put on it. 

“Careful, he has a phalange and metacarpal fracture on his left hand.” 

How did that happen? Malcolm tried to think back, but it seemed impossible to recall anything when he didn’t even know where he was or what was going on. He could feel a panic attack coming on, or at least what he thought was a panic attack. It was hard to tell if the tightening in his chest was due to anxiety, or from the burning sensation in his lungs. He tried to speak again, but taking in oxygen was a struggle at this point.

“Okay, 1, 2, 3,-”

Malcolm gasped. He felt a sharp pressure in his chest, followed by even more burning. But there was also a sensation of relief, as he realized he could breathe deeply once again. He almost started choking, he was taking in gulps of air so fast. His lungs were starved for it and he felt incredibly grateful for whatever was over his mouth, forcing air down his throat. 

“O2 levels are coming back up, but we still-”

“His BP is 90 over 60, get me-”

“Has someone paged neuro yet-”

Malcolm tried to stay awake. He tried to keep his focus. The voices around him became background noise and the pain only increased. He suddenly felt hands on his face, trying to pry one of his eyes open further. The white light somehow increased. 

“Sir, can you follow this for me-”

Malcolm didn’t know what they were talking about. What was there to follow? 

“CT is ready for us, hang another unit of-”

The light was becoming overwhelming, spreading across his line of vision until it had covered all of the blurry figures that Malcolm had previously seen. He was feeling warm, like he was laying under the sun. He almost began to relax on instinct. 

“Sir, stay with me. I need to know your name so we can call someone-”

Malcolm couldn’t hear anything anymore. 

And the white light suddenly went black again. 

\--------------------------------

When Malcolm opened his eyes again, he was in a different room. It was just as bright and crowded as the last one, but he knew it was different. He knew because he had watched his father in this room dozens of times as a child. Memories of doing homework in his father’s office, of holding his father’s hand as he led him around a labyrinth of hallways, of watching his father, being completely engrossed by what he was doing, from the operating room observation bay, fluttered through his mind as pieces began coming together in his head. 

He was at a hospital. He was the patient on the operating table, the person Malcolm had always looked at and wondered what their life was like, why they needed his father's help. Malcolm had felt so proud of his father when he watched him work. His father saved lives, his father helped people. After the arrest, Malcolm couldn’t imagine his father working as a doctor without feeling physically ill, as the once happy memories turned into ammunition for his night terrors. One of the most common ones he had as a child was one where he was in the OR, watching his father perform surgery. Except halfway through, Martin would begin cutting all the flesh off the patient and removing their vital organs one by one, smiling at this son the whole time.

At the end, he’d always hand the scalpel to Malcolm.

He’d wake up before he knew if he took it or not. 

“Is the patient prepped-”

“Yes, Doctor Clayborne, he’s-

“He lost consciousness when we took him up for a CT, but-”

The voices increasing in volume around him made Malcolm snap out of the trance-like state he had entered. Although he was actually aware of his surroundings now, he still couldn’t move or speak. He could just watch as more and more people circled above him; nurses, anesthesiologists, technicians.

Surgeons. 

Malcolm wanted to scream. He was literally trapped in his own skin and it did nothing to soothe the anxiety he was already feeling. Apparently, his body was taking note of the fact, because he heard a high pitch beeping from a heart monitor and one of the figures above him cursing as he noted the increase. They were all wearing masks and hair coverings; Malcolm couldn’t see any of their faces. He knew that somewhere close to him was a tray of medical equipment; scissors, forceps, clamps.

Scalpels. 

He needed to get away. But he couldn’t. Malcolm didn’t even know why he was here, he didn’t remember being injured or getting sick. All he could focus on was the fear coursing through his veins. He tried to steady his breathing, but even with the oxygen mask still covering his face, he didn’t feel like he was getting any air in. 

“My boy, you need to calm down. They’re about to put you under anesthesia. Don’t you remember what I taught you?”

Malcolm blinked. All the figures above him that had been moving around so quickly before were suddenly still. All except one, who walked to the head of the table Malcolm was laying on. His face was covered with a mask, but Malcolm recognized his eyes immediately. 

No. His father couldn’t be here, not now. Malcolm was shocked when he suddenly found himself able to speak, although he was acutely aware of the fact that his lips still weren’t moving. The words simply resounded across the room, like an echo with no source.

“What...what’s happening?”

“Don’t you remember? Well, I suppose that’s normal. Your head did get hit the ground a number of times. I mean, I’m no neurosurgeon but I know how bad an epidural hematoma is. Let’s hope this doctor's mortality rate is on the lower side.”

“My head…”

“And your arm, and your chest, and your abdomen, and your...well everything basically. Eli O’Conner sure did a number on you. I was a bit disappointed in you, Malcolm. I thought you had more fight in you. He made it seem so easy to physically overpower you.” Martin tisked, as if Malcolm was a child who had gotten a bad grade on his report card. “But I suppose Hell hath no fury like a father who lost their child. I would know a thing or two about that.”

Malcolm almost laughed. Memories of the assault were coming back in bits and pieces; he remembered sweat pouring down his face, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the glint of the knife as Eli dragged it dangerously close along Malcolm’s neck. As if being nearly beaten to death wasn’t enough, now he had to deal with visions of his father when he was about to be sedated for who knows how long. 

He wondered if he was going to wake up again. 

“Doctor Whitly, considering the only reason I was attacked was because you killed Eli’s daughter, I don’t think you are in any position to talk to me now.” Malcolm wished the white light would come back. He wished the anesthesiologist would hurry up and put him under. He’d rather be stuck in a night terror with the Girl in the Box than continue to look at his father’s eyes, which stood out so sharply against the pale blue mask, for even a minute longer. 

“My boy, I just wanted to comfort you. I know how scary surgery can be.” 

“Scarier still when you’re hallucinating your serial killer father right before it begins.”

Martin laughed, the wrinkles of his mouth showing slightly through the mask. “You might want to be a bit nicer Malcolm. This may be the last time you see me again.”

“If only that were true,” Malcolm mumbled. He could hear his voice getting weaker and wondered what was actually happening around him. But like before, all the figures above him stood still, except for his father, who had set a gloved hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. Malcolm tried to squirm out from under it, but he still couldn’t move. 

“I mean it, my boy. Don’t think the fact that you’re always throwing yourself into danger means you’re immune from death.”

“I didn’t throw myself into danger. You put me in danger because you are a serial killer who murdered an innocent teenage girl twenty years ago.” Malcolm felt his father squeeze his shoulder and he wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but here. He wanted Gil or his mother or his sister or Dani. All the fear he was feeling was building on his chest, making it harder to breath. The pain in his head was only increasing and Malcolm suddenly wondered if he was dying. 

“Oh yes, her. Abigail was the name right? Why, I remember her. I killed her just three months before I was arrested. Such a pretty girl. A shame you couldn’t save her.”

“Save her?”

“Focus, Malcolm.” His father squeezed his shoulder. It hurt, and Malcolm wished he could cry out or scream but nothing would come to him. “Three months. If you had just been a bit faster about calling someone, why, she would be alive and well right now. And you wouldn’t be here, bleeding to death on an operating table in the Lower East Side.” His father just kept tightening his grip on Malcolm’s shoulder, growling out the last few words. “Abigail’s blood may be on my hands, but yours aren’t completely clean either.”

“I was...just a kid,” Malcolm breathed. His words were barely making a sound anymore. He wished he could scream at Martin, tell him to stop it, to go away. But he just moved his face closer to Malcolm’s, smiling the whole time.

“A kid smart enough to figure out all his father’s secrets? Just imagine how many people you could have saved if you were only faster? Do you even remember when you called the police on me? Do you know how many bodies it took to actually try and put a stop to it.” Martin kept squeezing. It was tight, he was squeezing too tight, and it hurt. Malcolm didn’t want to think about any of this. Why hadn’t his miserable brain taken a break from tormenting him when it was currently filling with blood. Didn’t it have more important things to worry about?

Malcolm couldn’t speak anymore. He couldn’t move. All he could do was listen and feel. His father continued on. “So, I suppose we can share the blame for this uh, unfortunate incident? Maybe Eli will end up in Claremont. How ironic would that be?” He glanced around the room and suddenly the still figures surrounding Malcolm came to life and began moving rapidly. Their voices were muddled, but they were becoming increasingly clearer. “Well, I’ll have to stop our discussion there. The doctor is ready to begin. But don’t worry, my boy, I’ll stay here right beside you the whole time.” 

The oxygen mask was removed from Malcolm’s face and replaced by another, larger one. He felt like he was going to start crying.

“Can you count backwards from-”

“His pressure is rising, we need to-”

“Are we all ready to begin?”

Martin finally released his grip on his son's shoulder and began walking away from the table, mingling about with the other figures dressed in scrubs. Before Malcolm could even feel any sense of relief that the hallucination might finally be over, Martin turned back around to face him, something glimmering in his gloved hands.

“And who knows,” Martin said, holding up the scalpel. “I might just join in on the fun.”

And for the third time in the past two hours, Malcolm’s world went black again. 

\--------------------------------

The call came in at 3:15 am. 

Gil was in the ER by 3:45.

It wasn’t Malcolm, it couldn’t be Malcolm. He kept repeating that to himself as he weaved his way through the nurses, doctors, and patients rushing about the space. Maybe if he said it enough times, it would make it true.

The 9th precinct had reported an assault in the East Village. Normally, Gil wouldn’t get any kind of call for that, but the assailant had let the name of the victim slip. No wallet or phone or any other identifying object was found on him and apparently he was so beaten up, his face was barely recognizable under the blood, bruising and swelling. The only thing they had to go by was the furious rants of Eli O’Conner, who had been found beating a half conscious man nearly to death, before he was pulled off and restrained by a dock worker walking home from a late night shift. 

“He was telling my officers at the scene he had every right to go after “that Whitly boy,” that no jury was going to convict him,” Lieutenant Matthews of the 9th precienct had told Gil over the phone less than half an hour ago. “The victim was taken away by EMS before I had a chance to get a good look at him, but Gil...I was on the force when The Surgeon was at large. I remember the things Mr. O’Conner would say on the news about the NYPD, what he said about the Whitly family after we caught the killer. We’re taking him down to central booking, I’ll keep you updated on what he says, but you should get to the hospital now.”

Gil spent the entire drive over dialing and redialing Malcolm’s number, praying that he would answer and they could all have a good laugh about the misunderstanding on their way to work the next day. He almost stopped by Malcolm’s apartment, but he knew if he found it empty he wouldn’t be able to make the drive to the hospital by himself. He’d be too terrified of what he knew would be coming. He had to keep up the plausible deniability as long as he could. 

It has to be a mistake, it can’t be Malcolm.

Somehow, Gil made his way through the crowd to the check in desk where an uniformed NYPD officer was waiting. He pulled his badge out hastily, already exhausted by whatever administrative hoops he’d have to jump through before he could find out what was happening.

“Lieutenant Arroyo,” the younger officer greeted, standing up straighter as the detective approached him. “I’m Officer Sammy Jackson. I was the first responder on the scene of the crime. My lieutenant told me to wait here until you arrived.”

If it wasn’t abundantly clear that the officer in front of him wasn’t anymore than a year on the force and just trying to impress his superior, Gil might have snapped with him for engaging in pleasantries at a time like this. Instead, he did his best to compose himself. “Thank you, Officer Jackson. I wish we could be meeting under better circumstances. Do you have any information on...the victim?”

Sammy looked at Gil sympathetically. Gil was struggling to remain professional. He didn’t know if he was walking into this as a cop who needed to question a victim, or a family member who needed to identify a body.

“Mr. O’Conner confirmed that the man he assaulted was Malcolm Bright. According to my partner, they’re still interrogating him, but he has not only admitted to the crime, but is openly bragging about it...but just to be sure,” Jackson hesitated, before pulling an evidence bag from his pocket. “This was all that we found on him. I was hoping you recognized them.”

Gil visibly flinched when he saw that the evidence bag contained Malcolm’s key ring. There were three keys on it; one for Malcolm’s own apartment, one for his mother’s house, and one for Gil’s. The only defining feature, the only reason Gil was able to recognize it as his, was a small, leather, key chain with a mini version of a NYPD badge attached to the front. Since Malcolm was technically a consultant and not an officer, he didn’t have his own badge, so Gil had given the little souvenir to Malcolm after he officially joined the team. Gil knew it was kind of silly, but Malcolm had given him a genuine smile when he was presented with it. Gil knew the kid would appreciate a physical reminder that he was part of the team. 

He quickly took the bag from Sammy, hands shaking the entire time. Malcolm would want it back. He had to give it to Malcolm.

But Gil didn’t even know where Malcolm was. He was still alive, wasn’t he? He had to be, they would have told him if he wasn’t. 

“Thank you, Officer Jackson,” Gil started, his voice growing weak from the tears he was holding back. “They....they are Malcolm’s keys. I don’t know what he was doing out so late without his phone or wallet or a coat.” Well Gil had a few ideas. None of them were good though. He remembered how Malcolm would sometimes take walks when he couldn’t sleep as a teenager. Usually, he’d be okay but there were a few occasions Gil got a call in the middle of the night from a terrified Malcolm who wasn’t sure where he was and was becoming increasingly paranoid that some shadows in his mind were real and following him. 

Gil shook his head. None of that mattered right now. He just needed to see Malcolm. “Do you know where Malcolm is?”

Sammy hesitated, clearly aware that his response wasn’t going to be what the elder detective wanted to hear. “I’m not sure. I saw them unload him out of the ambulance but after that I lost sight of the gurney. It’s a Friday night, the ER’s packed.” He gestured to the woman at the front desk-who was currently frantically taking multiple phone calls, as if to illustrate Jackson’s point about how hectic everything was-and sighed. “She pointed out of the ER nurses that was working on him, but I figured I’d wait for you to-”

“Show me the nurse, now.” Gil didn’t have time to deal with trying to get the woman at the desks attention. He just hoped whoever it was hadn’t already left the ER and Sammy would still recognize her.

The young officer looked around the ER for a moment, before pointing to a woman standing by a bedside, helping a man sit up to vomit. “Theresa Gomez. I hope she has an update for you, can I-”

“Thank you, Officer Jackson. I’ll be sure to let lieutenant Matthews know how helpful you were.”

Gil didn’t have time to feel bad for cutting the kid off, he needed to talk with the nurse right now. 

He needed to hear that Malcolm was okay, that he could go see him immediately. 

He needed to know Malcolm was still alive. 

By the time he had been able to cross the sea of people filling up the ER, Theresa had gone over to a corner and was speaking to another nurse. Gil knew he shouldn’t interrupt, but before he knew it he was pulling out his badge to get their attention.

“Lieutenant Gil Arroyo, NYPD. Is one of you Theresa Gomez?” 

“I am,” the woman Sammy had pointed out replied. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Gil let out a sigh, feeling relieved that he might finally be getting information on Malcolm’s condition. “Do you have a moment to talk about a patient who recently came through here? Malcolm Bright?”

Theresa looked over to the other woman she was with. She nodded and took the chart Theresa had been holding. “I can cover your patients for now. Just hurry up, we have shift changes soon.”

Theresa turned back to Gil. “What do you need?”

“A man, uh, should have been brought in here,” Gil pulled out his phone to glance at the time. “Around an hour ago? Victim of assault. EMS didn’t know his name but we have since identified him as Malcolm Bright.” Gil didn’t know if he should use the cop method or the terrified family member method. Which way would get him to Malcolm the quickest? “He works for me...I mean, he does, but he’s also...a family friend, a close family friend...I...did you see him come in?”

Theresa smiled softly, clearly sensing how desperate Gil was. “I did treat him and he is alive, but I’m afraid there’s not much information I can give you until his doctor is available.”

“Can you please let me see him? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Lieutenant Arroyo, I’m sorry-”

“Can you at least tell me how bad his injuries were?” Gil pleaded. “Is he okay now?”

“Lieutenant Arroyo, I really can’t-”

“Ms. Gomez, please. I need to know...if he’s going to be okay. I need to be with him...if...please, he can’t be alone right now.” Gil could tell he had begun to cry. The uncertainty was terrifying him. He tried to grasp on to the fact that Malcolm was still alive, but it felt meaningless considering how vicious he knew the assault had been. The thought of Malcolm dying alone, scared and in pain, was making his chest ache.

Theresa sighed sympathetically and looked around the ER. It took nearly ten seconds, but she finally refocused and turned back to Gil. “You can’t see him right now.”

Gil opened his mouth to protest once again, but she continued. “He’s in surgery, and I don’t know when he’ll be out. Malcolm had an epidural hematoma- there was a lot of bleeding in his brain. They took him up for a CT scan and an emergency craniotomy thirty minutes ago to try and stop the bleeding and get the swelling down. He had multiple skull fractures, as well as a fracture to his nose and cheeks and a dislocated jaw. Six of his ribs were broken, which caused a collapsed lung. We treated it by inserting a chest tube in the ER but there could still be internal bleeding in his chest cavity, and that’s in addition to bleeding we found in his abdomen. His right arm is badly broken and he has severe bruising on his neck and a possible vocal cord injury. But right now, our biggest concern is brain damage. Once the surgeons are, hopefully, able to control the bleeding in his brain, we’ll know more about his condition.”

Theresa said all this in practically one breath; she knew if she dwelled on Gil’s reaction for too long, she wouldn’t be able to finish what she was saying. And just as quickly as she had spoken before, she was opening her mouth again; “I have other patients I need to attend to. Please, go take a seat in the waiting room. Another nurse will come get you when there are more updates.”

Before Gil could ask a single question, Theresa was rushing off, back into the throng.

Gil was left staring ahead, trying to keep himself from falling to the floor under the weight of the information he was just given.

Brain damage? A craniotomy? Did that mean even if Malcolm survived, he might never talk or walk or even wake up for the rest of his life? 

What had Eli O’Conner done to him?

No. What had Martin Whitly done to him?

If he wasn’t standing in a crowd of people, including many injured and sick, Gil would have punched a hole in the wall. The fear and dread that had been creeping into him ever since he got the call from Lieutenant Matthews had turned to pure rage and hatred. All directed solely at Martin Whitly.

Even from behind bars, his actions were still destroying his son. And once again, Gil had done nothing to protect Malcolm.

Why had he called the kid back to work, especially on a case relating to his father? Gil could barely stand up, his knees getting weak from the guilt that was washing over him along with the anger. He shouldn’t have let him go home alone tonight, he should have had him stay over. This attack couldn’t have been random, Eli must have been planning it. Gil should have figured it out somehow. He didn’t care how illogical it was. He should have known. 

Malcolm had to pull through. He had to be okay. Gil would never forgive himself if he wasn’t. He wished he could drive over to Claremont right now, pull Martin Whitly out of bed (where he was probably at peace, sleeping, while Malcolm was hurting) and beat the shit out of him himself. 

But he couldn’t do that. He needed to stay here. He needed to be with Malcolm when he woke up.

If he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out my Prodigal Son tumblr @ malclombright and come scream with me about this three week hiatus.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I already have a multichapter fic I'm working on so I'm going to try to keep this contained to two chapters.  
> me, 5 minutes later: rihanna winking dot gif
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the kind comments! I'm glad to know people are enjoying my writing. I am trying to update Bring Him Home soon but I've had a lot more inspiration for this fic (even though it's the same "malcolm gets hurt and everyone is Sad about it plot" lmao). Enjoy, I know it's not a new episode but it's...something.

By the time a nurse came out to tell Gil Malcolm was out of surgery, the sun was rising. He still hadn’t been able to get a hold of Ainsley or Jessica (he assumed they were still sleeping and blissfully unaware) but he had called JT and Dani to give them an update on the situation. Dani had wanted to come to the hospital and JT had wanted to go downstairs to central booking for a few choice words with Eli, but Gil insisted they both stay at work. A member of the team being injured was serious stuff and Gil wanted them to be able to see Malcolm as soon as possible, but he doubted any more visitors would be allowed, at least not until Jessica and Ainsley could be reached. 

So Gil was led into the neuro ICU on his own. The nurse who escorted him was young and very bubbly. He tried to match some of her energy, but he was too exhausted to pretend he was feeling anything other than stressed and terrified. 

“There were no complications during the craniotomy,” she explained, in a voice much too chipper for the topic at hand. “Obviously we won’t know the full extent of Malcolm’s injuries until he wakes up, but both his MRI scan and EEG test showed promising results.” 

When they reached the door she stopped, her expression growing more somber. Gil was getting impatient; the walls of the room were glass, but a curtain was blocking the full view of the bed so he couldn’t see Malcolm from where he was standing. He wanted to reach out and open the door by himself but the nurse continued on. 

“I just want you to take a moment to prepare yourself...it can be hard to see someone you love in this condition.”

It was hard for Gil not to snap back that he’d seen his wife in a state like this just three years prior and he saw horrific scenes unfold everyday at his work, but he knew she was simply following protocol. He just wanted to see Malcolm and every moment kept away from him was making him more and more agitated. 

Gil nodded curtly and the nurse opened the door, allowing him to enter first. 

He suddenly wished he had taken that moment.

The police officer who reported that the “assault victim” was practically unrecognizable hadn’t been exaggerating. Gil wasn’t even sure he could pull out any of Malcolm’s features from the head that was laying on the hospital pillow. Almost every part of his face was swollen or bruised. Both his eyes were black and painful to see, and there were thick, black, stitches bridging all the way across his forehead above his left eye. There were more stitches holding together a busted lip and his jaw was horribly swollen and bruised. A patch of hair on the right side of his head had been shaved for the craniotomy; the skin that was now showing contained multiple staples holding together a thick, red incision. There was another incision slightly above it, where a thin tube was threading into his skull, to monitor intracranial pressure and drain fluid. 

Malcolm’s neck was also covered in bruises, the dark purple marks looking almost like a macabre sort of scarf. His right arm was in a brace and propped up on a pillow. He was intubated and there were dozens of IV’s and wires covering every visible part of his body. Gil couldn’t even imagine what kind of injuries the thin hospital gown and blanket were covering. 

“Oh my God.”

Gil turned around suddenly, his mind temporarily drawn away from Malcolm. Jessica was standing in the doorway, wearing a mismatched blouse and pants that she would never be caught outside the house in on any other occasion. Ainsley was right behind her, struggling to keep the tears filling her eyes from falling. The hospital must have finally gotten a hold of them themselves and told them where to go.

“Jessica, I’m so sorry.” 

Jessica ignored him, rushing past the nurse and practically pushing Gil out of the way to get close to her son. 

“Malcolm, sweetheart...what did he do to you?” Gil could hear the tears in her voice. Jessica got down on her knees so she was level with Malcolm’s bed. She reached out to grab his hand before pulling back when she noticed the brace, disappointment filling her eyes. “My darling…I’m so sorry.”

Gil looked over at Ainsley, who had brought her hands over her mouth in genuine shock as she stared at her brother. She didn’t move from where she was in the doorway, as if even shifting slightly on her feet would somehow hurt Malcolm. The nurses eyes darted towards the three awake people in the room, clearly unsure of who to speak to first. Jessica started crying in the background. 

Finally, after what felt like hours of nothing but Jessica’s cries, although Gil knew it couldn’t have been more than a minute, he went up to Ainsley and offered her his hand. She hesitated, but took it, and let the older man lead her to Malcolm’s bed, standing just behind Jessica. 

The nurse finally spoke: “I’ll give you guys some time alone.”

As the sound of the door closing reverberated through the room, Ainsley and Gil began crying as well. The only sound accompanying their tears was the beeping of Malcolm’s heart monitor, the drip of his IV, the whooshing sound of the ventilator, as it pumped oxygen Malcolm couldn’t get himself into his lungs. 

Ainsley gripped Gil’s hand tighter and pulled him forward, so they were all practically leaning on Jessica. She used her free arm to wrap around her mother's side. Gil set a hand on her shoulder. 

"I'm so sorry," Gil whispered again, as Jessica buried her hands in her head, refusing to look behind her.

\--------------------------------

“Of course I remember Eli O’Conner.” Jessica spat out the word like a curse. Gil winced, slightly regretting telling Jessica the details of Malcolm’s attacker so soon. Obviously it had been the first question she asked once she was able to compose herself, and he didn’t want to lie to her, but maybe he should have stalled until she had more time to process everything. Ainsley didn’t even know who they were talking about, but before she could inquire anything about the name, her mother was moving on. “I almost had to get a restraining order to keep him away from my family. Even the tabloid reporters weren’t so insistent.”

Gil remembered him too. In fact, he had been the one to encourage Jessica to try and file a restraining order against Eli. He hated the idea of doing something like that to a grieving father, but he had crossed the line on more than one occasion; he was convinced Jessica had to be involved in Martin’s murders and, especially after news broke that the Surgeon would be sentenced to life in a mental hospital rather than prison, advocated that she be investigated and arrested as well. Gil hated to admit it, but this attack didn’t come out of nowhere; he couldn’t even imagine the rage at the Whitly family Eli had been holding for the past two decades. 

“What is dad going to do when he finds out about this?” Ainsley asked, her voice monotone. She was sitting in the hospital room's recliner, knees pulled up to her chest, while Jessica and Gil paced. They were waiting for the doctor to come speak with them and the lack of information was making it feel like the walls were closing in. “He’s going to find out; he gets the newspaper every morning and he has a TV.”

Jessica shot her daughter a glare. “I think we have enough on our plate for now. We’ll deal with your father when we have to.” Although Jessica shut down the conversation, she had to admit she had been thinking the same thing. In a just world, Martin would be thrown into Rikers for the rest of his life; no more cushy cell, no more medical consultations, and certainly no TV time. As far as she was concerned, her ex husband was as much to blame for what happened to Malcolm as Eli was. Eli may have been the one to physically attack him, but Martin was the reason he was so angry in the first place. 

No matter what she and her children did, they could never be rid of Martin Whitly. He followed them wherever they went, only leaving pain and destruction in his wake. 

Martin Whitly had been trying to take her son from her for over twenty years.

Jessica would be damned if she let him succeed. 

\--------------------------------

“You said his tests showed positive results,” Gil snapped, his hand starting to shake as fear and frustration built up inside him. “Those were your exact words.”

The nurse who had brought Gil to Malcolm that morning- he still didn’t remember her name- looked to the neurosurgeon standing beside her, an expression of slight exacerbation on her face. The two of them had come into the hospital room just a few minutes earlier, wanting to talk about Malcolm’s condition. 

Gil, Jessica, and Ainsley’s emotions were still running pretty high. 

Needless to say none of them were taking the conversation well. 

“Mr. Arroyo,” the doctor- Nettie Clayborne, at least Gil remembered her name-replied. “Malcolm’s EEG and MRI scan did show promising results. They showed we were able to drain the blood in Malcolm’s brain and repair the ruptured artery. And that Malcolm still has brain activity going on; he’s not brain dead.” 

“Oh wow, guess we can all go break out the scotch now!” Jessica responded, throwing her hands up in mock victory. “My son isn’t brain dead!”

“Mom,” Ainsley warned, giving the nurse and doctor an apologetic look. “I’m sorry it’s been...a rough morning.”

Doctor Clayborne smiled sympathetically. “I can’t even imagine.” She looked around at the trio before fixing her gaze on Malcolm. He was still in bed, still not moving, still hooked up to dozens of machines Gil couldn’t name the purpose of if someone held a gun to his head. “But, it’s important for the family to be educated in what our next steps are going to be. Like I was saying, Malcolm has a traumatic brain injury.”

Ainsley flinched at the diagnosis. It sounded so horrible, so terrifying, so overwhelming. Obviously she knew what all the words meant individually, but she didn’t want to think of the implications they held when put together. 

“We won’t know the full extent of the damage until he wakes up, but I want you all to know that this is a serious and life altering injury.” Doctor Clayborne hesitated once again. “Every patient's condition is different. Some wake up and don’t have any lasting effects. Some don’t ever fully wake up and need to be kept on life support permanently. Most fall somewhere in between. It’s going to be a long and difficult process for everyone. But it’s important that Malcolm has a strong support system throughout it all.” 

The doctor kept talking, but Ainsley wasn’t listening anymore. She fixed her gaze on her brother and didn’t look away. Her brother who was always so lively, so funny, so intelligent, so quick-physically and mentally. What if he wasn’t like that when he woke up? 

At first, Ainsley had just been terrified of her brother dying, but now a new fear was creeping up on her. 

What if her brother woke up, and he wasn’t Malcolm anymore? 

\--------------------------------

“I want Eli O'Connor imprisoned immediately, I want his wife to be investigated, I want his assets seized, I want the governor to reinstate the death penalty in New York so that-”

“Mom, enough.” Ainsley cut Jessica off before she could get to the inevitable “repeal the eighth amendment” part of her speech. “He was arrested. The police are dealing with him.”

“Clearly, not well enough.” Jessica shot a glare at Gil as if it was his fault personally that she couldn’t march down to the precinct and stab her stiletto heel in Eli’s eye herself. Honestly, if Gil could have things his way, he would be happy to lock Eli in a room with Jessica Whitly and see how he came out of it. “Do you even know where he is right now?”

Gil had been receiving updates from both the 9th precinct and Dani and JT, who had somehow managed to worm their way into the case that otherwise wouldn’t be assigned to major crimes. The other officers were keeping them away from Eli to prevent any conflicts that could get the case thrown out in court, but the duo was making sure they knew every detail of the arrest. “He’s in holding, waiting for his arraignment this afternoon. They got a warrant for his house and they found...pictures of Malcolm outside of his apartment. News articles about the Surgeon, research on how to pick locks, journal entries. It was a planned attack. Today is his daughter’s birthday, he picked it for a reason.” Gil sighed and scratched his beard. It was hard not to get choked up as he went on. “It looks like he planned to break into Malcolm’s apartment...torture him, kill him, and make it look like a botched robbery. I guess he didn’t count on Malcolm being an insomniac who likes to wander around the city at night.” Gil shifted in his seat again. “He might have been getting cold feet, though. They found several cans of beer in his car and his blood alcohol concentration was 0.12. There’s still a lot of evidence to sort through, but he’s being charged with attempted murder.”

“Good,” Jessica snapped. “I swear to God if this man drags this case to court...haven’t these people hurt my family enough?”

“Mom,” Ainsley started, clearly sensing she was getting worked up.

“You’d think they way that we’ve been treated, we were a whole family of murders!” Jessica raised her voice and stood up, starting to pace the cramped hospital room as she continued her rant. “I have done everything. I spent millions of dollars on victim retribution with MY family's money. I didn’t have to do that! I opened up scholarships for the children of victims, I advocated for victims rights reform, I condemned Martin from the moment you put handcuffs on him and it’s still never enough!” Jessica stopped long enough to look over at Malcolm. The three of them had been there for hours but he still hadn’t moved. The doctors said it was normal, that it would take time for him to regain consciousness and he was still being lightly sedated, but it didn’t do anything to quell their fears. “It’s not enough to just condemn us in private. The public wants revenge. They’ve already made my son’s life a living Hell, why not just take his life too!”

“Jessica,” Gil said in a warning tone. He felt and understood her rage, but he also knew blowing up like this wasn’t going to do anything other than get the nurses to ask her to leave. “What Eli did is horrific and he is going to be punished for it.”

Jessica laughed bitterly. “Just like how all the kids who beat my son up in middle school were punished? Or how that wretched reporter who nearly got him hit by a car when he grabbed him while he was walking home was punished?”

“Jessica, you know this is different.” 

She shook her head, turning so her back was to Gil and Ainsley and she was fully facing her son. 

He looked so small. He had always been on the leaner side, but his statue was even more pronounced when compared to the magnitude of the hospital bed and the machines that were surrounding him; machines that were feeding him, breathing for him, keeping his heart beating. Jessica could barely even recognize his bruised face; she couldn’t recognize her own son! She leaned down and gently stroked her hand through the left side of his hair, doing her best not to disturb any of the monitoring leads or touch an injury. The only good thing about him being unconscious was at least he didn’t have to feel any pain. 

“You’re going to be okay, dear,” Jessica whispered, keeping her touch soft and light. “Take your time and rest now, but come back to us soon.”

Ainsley looked over at Gil, her face crestfallen. Malcolm’s traumatic brain injury had been the elephant in the room ever since the doctor came in a couple hours ago to give a detailed update on his condition. They wouldn’t know how severe it was until he woke up, but the doctor had already warned them of complications. Seizures, a permanent vegetative state, eventual brain death. He may need to relearn how to talk or walk or hold things in his hands. He may lose those functions permanently. And there was no way to predict how serious it was at this point. 

All they could do was wait. And try not to think of the worst case scenario. 

\--------------------------------

Malcolm didn’t wake up the next day. Or the day after that. 

Dani, Edrisa, and JT finally had a chance to come visit. Between the three of them and Ainsley, Jessica, and Gil, who had all more or less been at the hospital for the past two days straight, the room was pretty crowded. Still, despite all the noise six people talking made, Malcolm didn’t stir at all. 

“They took him off the ventilator this morning!” Ainsley said proudly, from her chair by Malcolm’s bedside. “He’s breathing on his own.” 

Dani smiled softly, but when she went to look at Malcolm, her eyes quickly went from the much less invasive nasal cannula up to his scalp. The incision site still looked terrible, and there was still a tube sticking through his skull, draining who knows what out of his brain and monitoring pressure build up. “But he’s still not awake yet?”

Ainsley deflated at the detective's question. Dani went to apologize for her bluntness, but she answered before she could interject. “No, he’s not. They’re weaning him off the sedatives they gave him for surgery and they hope he’ll wake up once they’re out of his system. If he doesn’t…”

Ainsley didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew what she meant. If Malcolm didn’t wake up when he wasn’t being sedated, that just meant his brain injury was even worse than they already knew. 

Edrisa was the one to finally end the awkward silence that enveloped the room. “Well, there’s a lot of evidence that suggests talking to someone while they’re unconscious helps them. They might even be able to hear and understand you.” She took a step closer to Malcolm’s bed. “Bright, you will not believe the body that just came in. 40 year old male shot over a hundred times, I mean he was basically swiss cheese at this point, I could barely keep him from falling apart on the autopsy table-”

“Edrisa.” She turned to JT, who was literally making the “cut it out motion” and shot her a look that said ‘Maybe talking about dead bodies while Malcolm is still in critical condition isn’t the best topic of conversation’? 

Dani quickly changed the subject. “We’re all so sorry about this, Mrs. Whitly.”

“Yes,” Jessica responded quietly. She hadn’t spoken since the three NYPD employees had entered the room. She hadn’t been speaking much even before then. Gil had noticed how quiet she got when it came into the third day, and Malcolm still wasn’t awake. How she never left Malcolm’s bedside, how her eyes never left his face. “So am I.”

Another silence, somehow even more awkward and tense than the last, filled the room. This time, it was Ainsley who broke it. 

“So!” Ainsley said, as if she was trying to break the ice at a party she was hosting where no one knew each other. “You guys have got to hear the stories I have about my brother. Teenage Malcolm...simply a gold mind of embarrassing moments.” Ainsley’s voice was full of artificial happiness and everyone could hear it, but no one tried to interrupt her. If she was going to offer a distraction from how lifeless Malcolm looked currently, they would take it. “When I was 12, I wanted to go see this concert for some 90s boy band I already forget the name of, and mom said Malcolm had to take me-”

“Can I talk to you for a second? Outside.”

Gil’s attention was brought away from Ainsley. Dani had softly wandered over to the corner of the room, where he had stationed himself. He quickly collected him, trying to act as professional as possible in front of his detective. “Of course, Powell.” 

The two of them stepped out into the hallway, Dani quietly closing the door behind them.

“Let me guess,” Gil started before she could even open her mouth. “This is about O’Conner.”

“You haven’t been replying to my texts.”

“I’ve been a bit...distracted.” 

Dani’s face fell, even more so than it had when she first saw Malcolm. “I know, Gil. I’m sorry.”

The older officer didn’t reply. He looked around the hallway, as if stalling for the update he knew was inevitable. Finally, he spoke: “How bad was it?”

“O’Conner pleaded not guilty, of course,” Dani crossed her arms and Gil could see the anger building up in her expression just thinking about the man who had put them in this position in the first place. “He somehow still thinks he’s the victim in all of this.”

Gil’s throat got tighter. Eli wanted to take it to trial. Gil didn’t even know how Jessica would react if she found that out. He might have to keep her locked in her house, if only to prevent her from attacking Eli in the courtroom. “A jury won’t see that.” 

“Yeah,” Dani mumbled. “But it only takes one. One person who saw those photos of what the Surgeon did to Abigail back in the 90s and feels the man has been punished enough.” 

“I’m sure the district attorney will be happy to pull out the pictures of what Malcolm looked like when he first got here,” Gil shot back. His voice was filled with anger but Dani knew none of it was directed at her. In the three days Malcolm had been in the hospital, his appearance had improved slightly, but not by much. Gil wondered how long it would take for the bruises to fade, for the stitches to be removed, for the swelling to go down. 

How long it would take before Malcolm looked like Malcolm again.

Dani changed the subject, but not to one that calmed Gil down any. “And he made bail.”

If Gil wasn’t currently surrounded by nurses carrying around life saving equipment, he would have grabbed the nearest object he could pick up and thrown it against the ground. The anger he had already been feeling was quickly turning into blind range. “How is that even possible?”

“His lawyer is good. Convinced the judge he wasn’t a flight risk and got it set at $100,000,” Dani hesitated again, moving her hands to her pockets. “His wife refused to pay it- I heard she’s already trying to file for divorce- but his brother is apparently some hot shot director on Broadway and was able to post the funds. He was released this morning.” 

Gil hadn’t planned on leaving the hospital for at least the next week, but the idea of showing up at wherever Eli was staying and showing what pain really is was all too tempting. He couldn’t let Jessica know about this. She didn’t have a police position to worry about losing and all the money in the world to make an aggravated assault charge going away.

On second thought, maybe he should have Dani go explain the situation to her as well…

“JT and I aren’t allowed to even breathe near the case files anymore. Luckily, someone in the 9th precinct owes me a favor from when we both worked narcotics, so I’m staying updated.” Dani paused, her eyes suddenly looking much sadder than before. Gil immediately felt guilty; he hadn’t even thought about how hard Dani must be taking all of this. Malcolm was pretty close to everyone on the team, but it was undeniable that Dani was his first real friend since high school. “Don’t worry, Gil. It’s going to be okay.” 

Dani looked exhausted. Like she was using all her energy to convince herself that she was right. That everything would be okay. Gil hated to see her like this. 

It wasn’t going to get any easier from here. 

\--------------------------------

“Do you really think he’s going to be okay?”

Ainsley’s voice was so quiet, Gil almost didn’t hear it. It was late; the sun had long since set and Ainsley was curled up on one of the chairs in a blanket, Gil on the one next to her. Jessica had fallen asleep in the recliner hours ago. Ainsley had given her her hoodie to use as a pillow. 

Gil looked over at her, and even in the dimly lit room saw her eyes sparkle with tears. The only sound besides her voice was the humming of the hospital machinery. It made the room feel cold and unforgiving. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to offer the girl the most comfort he could.

“He’ll be okay, Ainsley. We’re going to make sure of that.”

“Gil...I’ve been reading online-”

“Ainsley, you shouldn’t do that.” Gil sat up straighter in his seat. His gaze drifted to the stack of untouched pamphlets on Malcolm’s bedside table. Malcolm’s lead doctor kept leaving them in the room whenever she came to give updates. Jessica and Gil had made a silent pact to not look through them until Malcolm was awake and they knew what they were dealing with. Reading the pamphlets would make all the worst case scenarios seem real. “You’re just going to worry yourself.” 

“Sorry that I’m actually trying to educate myself while you and mom pretend nothing is happening!” Ainsley spat the words out much harsher than she had intended. She quickly put her hands over her mouth, in a show of apology. “Gil...I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like...I’m just so scared…And when I’m scared, research helps me. It makes me feel like I know what I’m dealing with. Part of the profession I guess.” Ainsley laughed at the last part of her reply but it was hollow. 

“It’s okay Ainsley,” Gil replied, feeling even worse for the young woman. If he was scared of losing Malcolm, he couldn’t even imagine how the kid’s sister was feeling. “Malcolm is going to get through this. We’re going to get through this.”

“What if…” Ainsley’s words were cut off by a sob; she couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. She did her best to calm down, to try and speak clearly, to at least not wake up her mother, but words still came out choked and wobbly. “Gil, what if he can’t walk anymore? What if he can’t even talk to us? What if he doesn’t remember who we are?” The tears were coming out faster now and Ainsleys shoulders shook with every sob. 

“Ainsley listen to me.” Gil took her hands in his own, trying to steady her as best he could. She looked up and met his gaze, and Gil almost wanted to cry himself when he saw how terrified her expression was. He tried to keep his voice from wavering. “If...if anything like that happens, we’re still going to be here for Malcolm. We’re going to stay by his side through all of it and we’re going to help him get better. And he will get better. It might be a long recovery process, but Malcolm is one of the strongest people I know, and he will get through this. And so will we.” 

Ainsley didn’t speak for nearly a full minute. She began squeezing Gil’s hand, as if trying to ground herself. She wasn’t sobbing anymore but tears were still falling freely and her face was wet with those she had already shed. 

When she finally opened her mouth to speak, only one word came out. “Okay.”

\--------------------------------

It was officially Malcolm’s fourth day in the hospital. When Gil was woken up by the morning tech doing their rounds, he almost wanted to yell at them not to change the date on the whiteboard that hung on the hospital room wall. He didn’t need another reminder of how much time had passed and how little Malcolm had improved. 

Jessica was at Malcolm’s bedside, her hand resting on her son’s shoulder, rubbing comforting circles in his skin. Ainsley was curled up on the recliner, scrolling through her phone while occasionally looking up at her brother with a forlorn expression. Gil could only guess what she was looking at. 

Dani had come in this morning as well, bearing coffee and breakfast sandwiches from the bodega by her apartment. Everyone had been so tired of eating nothing but hospital food for three days, the sandwiches were almost all gone within minutes. Even Jessica ate one, which was a surprise to Gil, considering he didn’t think he had ever seen the woman eat anything with that much grease before. 

“Too bad Malcolm isn’t awake to pretend he’s not hungry, only to black out five minutes later from low blood sugar.” Dani laughed and took another bite of her sandwich, trying to keep the bacon from spilling out on to her lap. She was sitting cross legged on one of the chairs by the window, Gil sitting on the identical one next to her. “And then he had the nerve to complain that there weren’t any sandwiches left! Now I see why you always keep a drawer full of fruit gummies in your desk.” 

“How do you know about that drawer?” 

“We’re not talking about me right now, Gil!”

The lieutenant laughed, appreciating the fact that Dani was at least trying to provide some kind of distraction. Jessica and Ainsley were still in their own worlds, but he knew he at least was happy she took up his offer of staying when she dropped off the food. 

“How’s he doing, Gil?” Dani’s tone was more somber, as she looked over at Malcolm once again. She was speaking much softer now, as if she didn’t want Jessica and Ainsley to hear. 

“His vitals are coming back to the normal range. His intracranial pressure is still on the higher end, but they’re treating it with medication and hoping it comes down on it’s own. And he’s still not responding to any stimuli.” Gil listed everything off in a clinical tone, almost detached from the words he was saying. It was the exact same update they had been told multiple times in the past two days and at this point it was easier just to parrot it back than actually think about what it meant.  
Dani nodded, clearly not wanting to dwell on the implications either. “I wish I could come by more often.”

“You’re busy. And if I’m going to be taking a leave of absence for at least the next week, they’ll really need you in major crimes.”

“Still,” Dani replied. “I’m sorry I can’t be here more for Malcolm. For you.”

Gil smiled softly at the young detective. He honestly had his doubts about how well Malcolm would get along with the team, but everyday he realized more and more how foolish a thought that had been. Dani, JT, Edrisa all cared about him in their own way. 

Gil knew that when Malcolm woke up, he would have plenty of support from his family and his friends. 

“Malcolm!”

Gil startled. Dani nearly dropped her sandwich. Ainsley must have drifted off because when she heard Jessica’s voice, she yelped. 

“Jessica,” Gil started. Looking over at the bed. His first thought was something was wrong, but Malcolm’s heart monitor was still going steady and he looked just like he always did; motionless, silent. “What is going on?” 

Jessica didn’t even bother turning around to address everyone. She shot out of her chair, leaning over her son’s bedside. 

“It’s Malcolm! He tried to grab my hand! I think he’s waking up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading peace and love xoxo


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super happy with this chapter but I wanted to post something since it's been a bit. And from here on out, I have a lot more material planned so hopefully it'll be easier for me to write. Thank you to everyone for the kind comments I've been receiving!

The damn white light was back again.

Malcolm was getting tired of seeing it. He didn’t even remember where or when he had seen it, he just knew he was impossibly frustrated with it. Especially since it was the only thing he could see. It was all encompassing, it stretched a million miles in front of him and he somehow knew it stretched a million miles behind him.

He tried to relax into it, hoping if he stood still enough, the memories would come back to him. Memories of where he was and why he was here. Malcolm closed his eyes against the light, trying to take stock of what he was feeling. 

Pain. 

Subtle, but it was there. Nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Tired. 

Well, when was he not? Just because he never slept didn’t mean he never wanted to. 

Scared.

Probably a normal reaction to waking up and not knowing where one was. Gabrielle would be so proud.

His father.

Not a feeling. But still somehow relevant. Of course it had something to do with his father. When had something in his life happened that didn’t have something to do with his father?

Malcolm opened his eyes again and the white light was gone. Or at least, it was much smaller. It was contained into a single rectangle, surrounded by a beige surface, outlined with other rectangles that didn’t hold a white light. 

A ceiling. He was looking at a ceiling. But it definitely wasn’t the ceiling of his apartment. It vaguely reminded him of the old, water stained, ceiling of the precinct. Had he passed out in the conference room? From low blood sugar or exhaustion? Maybe he had another hallucination and hurt himself. That wouldn’t be fun to explain to Gil. But he didn’t see Gil. He didn’t see anyone. 

He tried to move his head but it felt impossibly heavy and the effort just made the pain increase. Everything in his peripherals was blurry. There wasn’t much to work with.

Malcolm wiggled his fingers but he had no idea if they actually moved much. Judging by the pain that the motion inflicted, he doubted it. He was too tired to even attempt to raise his arm. 

He wondered if he could talk. He tried opening his mouth, but a horrible ache ripped through his jaw. Malcolm immediately flinched at the pain, closing his eyes against it. 

Why was he hurt? He tried to recall what had happened, but all he could think about was his father. His father reading him stories. His father teaching him every bone in the human body. His father leaning over him in an orange jumpsuit. His father begging him to stay.

His father standing at the foot of his bed.

Malcolm inhaled sharply, causing the pain in his throat to increase, as he brought his head up less than a centimeter to stare at Martin Whitly. The space he was in suddenly came to focus in his peripheral; a hospital room. He was in the hospital. 

That explained the pain. And it probably explained why he was hallucinating- because that’s what it was, a hallucination, he had to remember that- his father. For a few moments, the two men just stared at each other, the white sheet covering Malcolm as vast as the ocean. The only sound was Malcolm’s breathing, which was slow and choked, like he was a deer standing face to face with a hunter, knowing that if he even moved an inch, he would be shot. 

“It’s about time you woke up, my boy! I was starting to get concerned,” Martin said, finally breaking the oppressive silence. His tone was joyful, celebratory, completely at odds with the anxiety Malcolm was feeling. “Head injuries can be so unpredictable. Don’t want you out of it for too long.”

Malcolm attempted to look to the right or left, to see if anyone else was in the room, but something kept his head firmly centered on the pillow, forcing him to meet his father’s gaze. Malcolm didn’t know if it was a brace or his own psyche keeping him so restrained, but it wasn’t helping him come back to any sense of reality. 

“Where am I? What happened?” Talking was nearly impossible; each word was like a needle shoved into his mouth. His throat was sore and constricted, and you could hear it in his voice. 

“You forgot again? Malcolm, I am a patient man, but I will admit I’m getting tired of explaining this to you.”

“Feel free to leave at any time,” Malcolm replied dryly, his voice never going above a whisper. “No one said you had to stay.” 

Martin smiled that grin that Malcolm always hated. It was warm, but he knew there was no sincerity behind it. Martin just wanted to appear innocent, trustworthy, a harmless old man complete with a charming cardigan and curly beard. But that same man had brutally tortured and murdered twenty three people, at least.

Tortured? Murdered? The pain in Malcolm’s head began to increase and he laid back further into the pillow. 

“Oh starting to remember, are we?” 

“Shut up, please just shut up.” The last thing Malcolm needed was his father's voice in his head. It already felt like someone was slowly crushing his skull, he couldn’t deal with anything else. “I’m trying to think.”

“Malcolm!”

That wasn’t his father. That voice was coming from his left side. Malcolm still couldn’t move his head, but he saw a figure suddenly come into focus from his peripheral. The auburn hair, the light green eyes, the pale cheeks wet with tears. 

His mother. His mother was here and she was trying to talk to him. 

And she sounded so worried.

Malcolm tried to speak, move his hand, blink, but nothing was coming to him. He needed to get her attention, let her know he was okay, but it was like he was completely frozen.

“Dad…” Malcolm started, hating how he sounded so much like a scared child. The logical part of him knew this wasn’t real, his father wasn’t actually in front of him, but even being so vulnerable in his own mind left him feeling exposed. “Please, just help me.” 

His father just smiled again. “I’m sorry my boy, you’ll just have to figure this out on your own. 

“Jessica, what’s going on?”

Gil? That was Gil’s voice. He was here too? Malcolm was suddenly aware of not just his mother's presence, but her hand around his own. She was squeezing and it hurt, but he still held on to the sensation, desperate to have anything that would keep him grounded. 

“It’s Malcolm! He tried to grab my hand! I think he’s waking up!”

Well, Malcolm hadn’t so much grabbed her hand as he had finally forced his fingers to wiggle slightly in her grasp. But at least it meant he could move, which meant he was awake. 

And to confirm it, he heard his mother gasp. “Gil, his eyes are opening! Ainsley, Dani, go get the doctor! Sweetheart, can you hear me? It’s mama? I love you so much, please don’t be scared.”

Unfortunately, his father hadn't gotten the memo. He was still standing at the end of Malcolm’s bed, his gaze momentarily shifted from his son, to Jessica and Gil, who were crowded the left side of his bed. “Oh, of course Gil is here.” 

“Shouldn’t you be gone by now,” Malcolm growled. “I’m not sleeping any more!”

“You’re not awake yet either, my boy,” Martin snapped in reply. He pointed to Jessica and Gil, who were still squeezing Malcolm’s hand, their words a jumbled mess as they kept talking over each other, trying to get his attention. But Malcolm’s gaze was once again stuck, only able to stare straight forward. “They can’t hear you.” 

Malcolm opened his mouth to protest when he realized something; he couldn’t. He had thought he was speaking out loud this entire time, or at least mouthing the words, but now he realized his mouth wouldn’t even open. It didn’t make sense, he knew he was talking to his father. But whatever he was saying must just be staying in his thoughts, only for Martin Whitly to hear.

“Hey kid, it’s good to see you’re up.” Gil rubbed his hand up and down Malcolm’s arm and the younger man once again tried to focus on the soothing touch. He wasn’t fully awake, but that was fine. He could get their attention again some other way. He tried wiggling his fingers more, which was met with a gasp from his mother, so he took it as a good sign that they actually moved. 

His father began moving closer, until he was standing on the other side of his bed, parallel to his mother and Gil. “Aw, they’re so excited. Unfortunate that you can’t tell them how happy you are to see them.”

Malcolm’s chest began constricting. It was like a weight was pressing down on his ribs. He still had no idea why he was in the hospital, and no matter how much he tried, the only thing he could get out were groans and coughs. Gil and his mother reacted to the noise like he was fully awake and reciting Shakespere to them, but it just made Malcolm feel even more frustrated.

And his father’s lingering presence did little to fight his unease.

“Dad…” Malcolm said (or rather, thought). “Please...tell me what happened.”

Martin chuckled softly and put his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “My boy, I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation.” 

And with that, Martin Whitly disappeared, and Malcolm closed his eyes once more. 

\------------------

Malcolm drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the morning. His father never returned, but he still wasn’t able to speak. Moving took up so much energy that he could only ever meet his mother or Gil or his sister or Dani (who he had not expected to be there) with blinking or occasionally moving his left hand. Whoever was sitting with him always lit up, like Malcolm had performed an intricate piano solo rather than just bent his finger. 

It took so much out of him. He always fell asleep right after. 

The next time he woke up, a new figure was in the room; a woman, with wavy dark hair and light green eyes. Malcolm knew she was a doctor by her white coat and the way his mother watched her from across the room, hands clasped as if in prayer. 

She shined a penlight in Malcolm’s eyes and asked him to follow it, but the small beam hurt too much to focus on so he just shut his eyes. She asked him what his full name and birthday were, but he still couldn’t find the words to respond. She tried to put a pen in his left hand, but he didn’t even have the energy to grip it, and it fell out of his grasp and on to the tile floor. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes after the doctor left, but the next time he opened them, Dani was at his bedside, gently rubbing his shoulder.

“Hey, Bright, I gotta head in to work. I’ll make sure to tell Edrisa and JT you’re doing better, I’m sure they’ll be over the moon.” She was smiling, but the happiness in her voice was artificial. She was worried about him. She wanted to stay.

Malcolm wished he could tell her thank you for caring so much. 

He drifted off once again, as Ainsley took Dani’s place by his bedside and started talking to him in a soothing voice. Malcolm had trouble following her exact words, but her tone was enough to calm him down. 

He just hoped that when he woke up again, everything would be okay again. 

\------------------

“It’s called a minimally conscious state, and it’s a good thing.”

In Gil’s opinion, Doctor Nettie Clayborne was entirely too young to cut open people’s skulls for a living. Or many he was just getting old. Either way, Gil always felt slightly uneasy whenever Malcolm’s neurosurgeon came to talk to them, and he was reminded she was probably little more than a few years older than Malcolm himself. Nevertheless, Jessica and Ainsley were leaning forward in their seats, hanging on to her every word. 

“Malcolm has been in a coma for the past three days, while his brain heals from the trauma it went through. But now that he is opening his eyes and experiencing sleep and wake cycles, he’s coming out of that previous state of total unconsciousness. Watch.”

Doctor Clayborne grabbed a pen from her pocket and walked over to Malcolm’s bedside. “Good afternoon, Malcolm. Do you think you can hold this pen for me? I know you had trouble with it this morning, but I’d like for you to try again.”

Gil hated how it felt like she was babying Malcolm. He knew Doctor Clayborne was doing all she could to maintain Malcolm’s dignity in a situation like this, but it didn’t change the fact that she was giving him a task fit for a preschooler, not a 32 year old with a masters degree in psychology. 

Beside him, he felt Jessica tense up, clearly nervous about Malcolm not being able to hold the pen like this morning. She wanted to hear her son speak but she supposed this was the next best thing. At least it would mean he knew what was happening around him. They could tell him he was safe and okay and he might actually understand them. 

Malcolm slowly moved his head towards Doctor Clayborne’s voice, eyes still shut. “Good, that’s really good, Malcolm. Can you open your eyes?” It took a few moments, but he obliged. His eyes only opened up about halfway, but even that allowed Gil to see the blue of Malcolm’s irises. It had only been four days, but seeing those eyes again practically brought Gil to his knees. The light blue stood out stark against the purple and yellow bruises covering most of his face and Gil silently hoped the tiny movement wasn’t painful for the kid, given how swollen both his eyelids still were. At least he could see a slight awareness in them; Malcolm knew someone was speaking to him. 

Doctor Clayborne lit up, her voice almost too cheerful in tone. “Great job, Malcolm!” Jessica figured it was more for the families benefit than for the patients; she doubted Malcolm could even fully process what she was saying, never mind how she said it. But still, Jessica was grateful to see her son following commands when just last night he was completely unconscious. “I’m going to put this pen in your hand, and I just want you to try and hold it like you normally would. That’s all you have to do.” 

Gil held his breath as Malcolm stared at the doctor, his expression completely blank. Hours seemed to pass until Malcolm finally flipped his hand over and allowed the pen to be placed in his outstretched palm. 

“Okay, now just try and wrap your fingers around it…”

Malcolm complied, albeit slowly. Gil could tell it was taking all of his concentration and energy just to focus on bending his fingers around the object. He watched Jessica squeeze Ainsley’s hand in anticipation, a look of cautious optimism on her face. 

Once Malcolm had the pen firmly in his grasp, he slowly began adjusting his fingers into their proper places and lifted his hand slightly off the mattress. It was awkward and shaky, but Jessica’s face lit up as she watched her son. She turned to Ainsley who had a wide grin on her face. 

The doctor kept her focus on Malcolm. “That’s great! Just hold it for me for as long as you can.” 

Malcolm kept his grasp on the pen for about another minute, his gaze moving from his hand, to the doctor, to Jessica, Gil, and Ainsley. His expression never changed from that blank stare, but at least they knew he could follow the sound of their voices. Eventually, his eyes closed again, and the pen dropped onto the mattress. 

Doctor Clayborne turned back to the family. “I think he went back to sleep, but that was a really good sign. We’ll keep testing his ability to follow directions and hopefully he will move into a fully conscious state as he recovers.” 

Jessica thanked the doctor as she exited, reminding them to tell a nurse to call her if anything changes. Almost immediately, Ainsley rushed to the bedside, picking up her brother’s hand and holding it tightly in hers. 

“Hey, Mal...we all really missed you. But we’re so glad you’re getting better.” She coughed slightly, trying to hold back her tears. “I love you so much.” 

Jessica was still standing back, as if she was afraid any sudden movements would cause Malcolm to break into a million pieces. Gil quietly took her hand and led her to the corner of the room, as Ainsley made herself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. 

“He can hear us, Jessica! Isn’t that great?”

“I know,” Jessica replied, letting out a shaky breath, tears forming in her eyes. “He can hear us.”

Before Gil could say anything else, Jessica was stepping forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head in his shoulder. 

“He can hear us.” 

\------------------

Gil was the only one in the room when Malcolm started crying. 

It was the middle of the night, and he had fallen asleep in the chair at Malcolm’s bedside a couple hours ago. Ainsley and Jessica were sleeping in the family lounge; the three of them had finally agreed to take shifts staying in the hospital room at night. None of them wanted to leave Malcolm, but the promise of sleeping in an actual bed eventually won out. 

Gil opened his eyes slowly, blinking away his exhaustion and trying to focus on the figure in the bed in front of him. At first Gil thought he must be having a nightmare; it wouldn’t be the first time he dreamt about Malcolm being in danger and him unable to rescue him. But when he reached out his hand, he felt the sidebar of the hospital bed, and knew whatever was happening was real. 

There was enough light in the room (left on for the nurses who came in to take vitals every hour) that Gil could see Malcolm’s face clearly enough. It was still difficult for the older man to focus on; the bruises and cuts that seemed too many to even count were a painful reminder of exactly what had happened and Gil still hated that it was hard to even recognize Malcolm under them. But now the only thing he could focus on were the tears pouring down Malcolm’s cheeks, getting the gauze covering a particularly bad cut on his upper lip wet. The kids throat was too hoarse to really be sobbing, but Gil could tell Malcolm would have if he was physically capable. Even now, the cries came out more like whimpers and gasps, clawing their way out of Malcolm’s throat while his mouth was barely open. 

Gil did a double take, thinking this might be Malcolm waking up. But he visibly deflated when he remembered the doctor mentioning that even in a minimally conscious state, patients might cry or laugh or make other sounds without being able to talk. 

“Hey, kid, it’s okay.” Gil reached out and started stroking Malcolm’s left arm, trying to get him to calm down. He wondered if he was having a nightmare. Gil couldn’t imagine how horrible that would be; he knew how bad Malcolm’s dreams could get on a normal night, who knows what he was seeing with a brain injury. He wasn’t restrained, but it wasn’t like he could move much on his own anyway. “It’s just a dream. Try to go back to sleep.”

Malcolm’s eyes squeezed shut, but it didn’t stop the flow of tears. Gil moved his hand from Malcolm’s arm up to the back of his neck, doing his best to still keep the kid’s head on the pillow. “Kid, shhh, I promise whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real.”

A gasp escaped Malcolm’s lips and he began coughing. Gil withdrew his hand, worried he might have been putting too much pressure on his neck. Malcolm was still crying, but when he turned back to the older man, there was an unmistakable look of recognition in his eyes. 

“Gil?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, check out my tumblr @ malclombright and come scream about the new episode tomorrow !!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Again, sorry for such a late update; it's been hard to focus on long fics lately (lol remember when this was supposed to just be two chapters?). I'm going to try and post some more one shots since they're easier for me and I have plenty of ideas after That finale. Still, I already have chapter 6 of this started so I hope to have it posted sooner rather than later *pushes Bring Him Home's "last updated on" date even further away.* 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Assault?” The word came to Malcolm slowly and even when he forced it off his lips, it still didn’t feel real. It was too heavy. His thoughts were already foggy enough and he could barely process what he was actually saying. The physical act of talking was also both exhausting and painful; his throat felt like someone had been wringing it out like a towel for the past week and no matter how many ice chips he gulped down, it stayed perpetually dry. His actual voice was barely above a whisper and he kept having to swallow lumps in his throat as he toyed with the word on the tip of his tongue. Malcolm had a million questions on his mind but he was struggling to get out anything beside short sentences and the occasional nod of his head. 

The past few hours had been overwhelming, to say the least. His voice coming back to him had felt like a miracle, and he immediately started crying even more when Gil rushed to comfort him as he woke up from a nightmare. 

He felt even better when he realized his father was nowhere to be seen. 

Gil must have somehow alerted his sister and mother that he was up, because the next thing Malcolm knew, there were two new voices in the room and two new pairs of arms around him. It hurt to be moved around so much, but Malcolm didn’t care. He was desperate for the embrace of his family, the warmth he knew would ground him. He had stopped crying, but his face was still wet with tears and felt Ainsley pulling out a tissue to wipe his eyes with. He could barely see anything around him in the dark, but he knew they were all there and it brought him peace.

But now, it was daylight. Early in the morning; once Ainsley had finally pulled herself away from her brother long enough to go call a nurse, it quickly became a flurry of activity for the next three hours. A doctor whose name Malcolm couldn’t quite seem to remember had come in shortly after to run a variety of tests. She seemed pleased when he was able to say his full name and date of birth, tell her what year it was, and reach out and squeeze her hand. She had explained the extent of his injuries, including that he should try not to talk too much, given the bruising on his throat. Malcolm had mostly zoned out the entire time, finding it difficult to keep focus and getting stressed out since Jessica, Ainsley, and Gil all left the room when the doctor came in. 

Finally, Gil, Ainsley and Jessica had come back in. And of course, Malcolm’s first question had been “Why am I here?”

Gil and Jessica looked at each other, a silent conversation going on between them. Ainsley quietly sat down next to them at Malcolm’s bedside, her own expression unreadable. Finally, Gil replied, using as much vague phrasing as possible. “You were assaulted four nights ago. You went for a walk in the middle of the night and…”

“Assault?”

“We don’t need to talk about that now, dear!” Jessica interjected, before Gil or Ainsley had time to elaborate on what landed Malcolm here in the first place. “How is your head feeling?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, annoyed by her deflection. “Well considering I just had brain surgery...not great.”

Ainsley snorted and then immediately tried to cover it up with a cough. Jessica shot back a tight lipped smile. “Glad to see you haven’t lost any of your charm. But you must be exhausted, maybe try and get some rest and we can talk more when you wake up.”

Malcolm was exhausted, but he wasn’t about to give his mother the satisfaction of admitting it, especially when it was so clear she was dodging the question. “I’m not tired. And if I’m going to be in the hospital with a brain injury for the foreseeable future, I think it’s fair that I know what caused it.”

His mother looked ready to argue, but Gil was answering before she could. “You’re right, kid. It’s just...hard to talk about?”

“I’ll say,” Malcolm muttered, turning his gaze down to his right arm, a black cast stretching from halfway up his fingers to slightly above his elbow. He’d been quietly taking into account all of his injuries this entire time; the broken arm, the missing front tooth, the fractured nose, and, of course, the wound to his head. He hadn’t seen his face yet but judging by how painful it was every time he so much as twitched his eye, he could only imagine the amount of bruising on it. “I just...I don’t remember much and that scares me.” 

Gil balked at Malcolm’s comment, suddenly feeling bad for not being upfront immediately. The poor kid already had enough issues with trusting his brain before this and they still didn’t know the long term effects this injury would have. Of course he’d be scared waking up in a hospital and not remembering why. 

“Do you remember Eli O’Conner?” Ainsley finally spoke up, her comment drawing a confused look from Gil and a sharp stare that said “cut it out” from her mother. 

“I-I think?” Malcolm tried to concentrate, flipping through a mental Rolodex, waiting for the name to pop out. It was definitely familiar, but Malcolm was still having trouble remembering things from just the past week. 

“He was the father of...one of dad’s victims,” Ainsley continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He had been following you for a while and-”

“Ainsley, that’s enough,” Jessica snapped, before turning back to Malcolm. “Sweetheart, none of that matters anymore. The only thing we should be focusing on is helping you get better.”

Malcolm looked between his mother and sister. Ainsley had stopped talking, clearly not wanting to argue about the point. His mother kept that forced smile on her face that he knew so well from years of her acting like she was fine when he found her in the dining room, pill tin in hand. His chest immediately tightened. Even without the details, Malcolm could piece together Ainsley’s comment into a pretty vivid picture. 

Well that would explain seeing his father at least. His head started hurting and Malcolm instinctively flinched. 

“Kid, you really should get some rest.” Gil reached out and squeezed his left wrist, careful to avoid the broken finger. “I promise we’ll answer any questions you have then, but right now, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

Malcolm certainly felt that way. The pain in his skull was practically unbearable by now and he could barely focus on what was being said. He was nauseous and somehow dizzy despite lying on a bed. He thought for a moment before finally relenting. “Okay. No more sedatives though?”

“I already talked to the doctor,” his mother replied, running a hand through his hair gently. “But sweetheart, at least try to sleep. One of us will be right with you the whole time.”

Malcolm mumbled an “okay” before finally fully relaxing against his pillow.

Even without the medication, he was fast asleep within minutes. 

\--------------------------------

“Obviously, we’ll need to wait for your right arm to heal a bit more before we can test it, but the left side of your body seems fine,” Doctor Clayborne said, smiling as she moved Malcolm’s left arm back on to the bed. Malcolm instinctively pulled it closer to himself, still feeling awkward despite the fact that he had been doing tests like these all morning. He’d just gotten back from both a CT and MRI scan and was now going through a variety of cognitive and physical tests in his room. Apparently, the barrage of tests he’d already had this morning weren’t enough. 

Malcolm’s doctor seemed very pleased that he had full range of motion in his left hand and  
both legs, and that he didn’t feel any numbness. Physically, at least. Mentally, everything was still foggy and slow to come back to him. She told him that was normal, but the fact that he was talking coherently was a good sign that he was on the road to recovery. 

“That’s it for now,” Doctor Clayborne announced. “We’re going to be running these kinds of tests pretty often just to make sure everything is coming back like it’s supposed to. The pressure in your brain is increasing a bit, so we’ll be keeping an eye on that, but for now just try and get as much rest as you can.” 

Malcolm mumbled a thank you as she exited the room. The door barely had time to close all the way before Ainsley, Gil, and Jessica were running back inside. Malcolm smiled to himself, imagining the three of them leaning up against the wall of his room, just counting the seconds until they could come in again and tripping over each other when they saw the door move.

“Dear, you’re already looking so much better!” His mother exclaimed as if she hadn’t seen him in weeks, instead of just the two hours he had been alone with the doctor. She quickly took her seat by his bedside again and went back to holding his left hand. “Are you hungry? I can call and have food brought here?”

“No,” Malcolm replied. He didn’t feel hungry on the best of days and he was still extremely nauseous. Gil had given him some orange juice this morning and he had barely been able to keep it down. “I still feel sick.”

“That’s because you haven’t eaten anything!” 

“Or because my head was smashed into some kind of hard surface repeatedly?” Malcolm winced, just the thought of it making the pain in his skull grow. 

Gil rolled his eyes. “We’ll try again for dinner time. I’ll make sure to see what kind of jello the hospital cafeteria serves.” 

Malcolm mumbled a “no promises” before turning back to his mother. “Speaking of how much better I’m looking, can one of you get me my phone? Or at least a phone. So I can see what the damage is.”

Jessica went stiff and Ainsley was immediately cutting in. “Mal, I think that’s a problem for a different day. You just woke up.”

“I don’t think it’s an unreasonable request,” Malcolm said, coming off more defensive than he intended. He was curious and figured he should get it over with now anyway. Judging by how horrible he felt, he didn’t doubt his appearance matched. But so much about the assault just felt almost intangible. He knew the pain was real and the hospital was real and the people around him were real but the event itself seemed too far away to grasp. It didn’t help that, while he had barely any recollection of it in general, he found he could vividly recall seeing his father; first in the ER, then during surgery, and again when he first woke up. Part of it still felt like a game his mind was playing on him and he hoped that seeing the physical proof would make it more real. “Please, I just...I need to see what he did to me.”

Jessica and Gil both looked ready to argue but Ainsley shut them both down by reluctantly pulling a compact mirror from her purse and putting it in Malcolm’s left hand. 

“Ainsley,” Jessica snapped. She looked prepared to grab the mirror from her son, but Gil sent her a silent look saying it wasn’t worth the fight. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. 

“Malcolm, you look-”

“Stop,” Malcolm said. And that was the end of it.

Slowly, he opened the mirror and held it up. It was difficult to hold given his broken finger but he managed to get it steady enough so that he had a pretty good view of his entire face. The bruising covering almost all of it had lost the painful looking red color it had originally been and was now a deep purple, with some starting to turn green and yellow. Malcolm winced; he knew bruising was temporary, but seeing it cover so much of his skin was still difficult. Finally, he opened his mouth slightly. He could feel that he was missing a front tooth but actually seeing the gap sent him reeling. 

Still, the worst part was the stitches covering several parts of his face. Judging by the gauze taped over his lip, he was going to have another scar there. The one on the left side of his forehead was particularly grotesque; it stretched from his eyebrow back to his ear and the thick, black, sutures seemed to barely be keeping the skin together. 

Malcolm heard Ainsley audibly sigh when he tilted the mirror up so he could see his head. Obviously, he couldn’t see the actual injury, but the shaved spot of hair that was now stapled shut with a thin tube draining out of it was enough to make him wince once again. 

He silently closed the mirror and handed it back to Ainsley. 

He had all the proof he needed. This was all very real. 

\--------------------------------

“It’s really good to see you awake. I did a rotation in neuro when I was in med school and I remember-”

“Edrisa.” Gil coughed the name out, but it was enough of a hint to get the ME to drop the subject. Malcolm still smiled from the hospital bed. The head of the bed had been brought up to help lower the pressure in his skull, so he was practically sitting up now. 

“I’m glad to see you three,” Malcolm replied, looking around the packed room. “But you guys really didn’t have to-”

“Bright, cut it out.” JT interrupted. “We were here when you were still unconscious and it was boring as shit. Of course we’re gonna be here now that you’re awake.” 

Dani nodded. “Besides, solving murders is a lot less fun without you randomly psychoanalyzing everything.” 

“Trust me, I’d rather be doing that right now.” Malcolm’s words were still slow and his voice scratchy. It took a lot out of him to even speak and it was still like he had to search for each individual word before he could say it. He hated being so foggy, especially around his friends. He had been excited when Gil mentioned they were coming over this afternoon, but now that they were here, Malcolm just felt exhausted and kind of embarrassed. After Ainsley gave him her mirror, he was acutely aware of how horrible he looked. The missing tooth alone made him almost too self conscious to speak. 

“Kid, let me get you some water,” Gil offered, as he stood up from the chair he was sitting in. He and Jessica were sitting in the corner of the room, while Ainsley, Edrisa, Dani, and JT were all standing crowded around the bed. “You sound like you’ve still got that tube in your throat.”

“Thanks, Gil,” Malcolm all but whispered. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the older man offered. 

As Gil left, Dani went to fill the silence, but Malcolm cut her off. “Tell me about the case.”

Dani raised her eyebrow. “What case?”

“Oh!” Edrisa interjected, her voice way too cheerful for the subject matter. “Did you read about the body that was found in-”

“My case.” Malcolm’s voice went up in volume but he was immediately wincing on the strain it put on his throat. “Eli O’Conner, what’s happening with him?”

“Malcolm,” Jessica said with a warning tone. She was smiling, but anyone who even remotely knew her could tell it was plastered on to hide her annoyance. “Let’s not talk about that right now. Your friends all took time out of their busy schedules to come visit you. We don’t need to ruin it by...um…”

“By talking about why I’m here in the first place?” Malcolm replied. “Too sore a subject? I’d love to ignore it but there’s just a lot of reminders everywhere.” He lifted his left hand and vaguely gestured to his entire body. 

“Bright, you know that’s not what we mean.” Dani stepped closer, reaching her hand out towards his right shoulder. When Malcolm didn’t move away from it, she set her hand down. “We just want you to recover a bit more. You’ve only been really awake for less than twenty four hours. Let’s take things slowly.” 

Dani couldn’t tell if Malcolm was just too tired to respond or if he actually listened to what she said, but he suddenly fell silent again. His eyes stopped focusing on her, instead moving to look all around the room and he began blinking rapidly. She was about to ask him what was wrong when Malcolm spoke up in a small voice.

“Where’s Gil?”

Dani immediately went stiff. She didn’t move her hand from his shoulder, but she looked behind at Ainsley, quietly looking to her for an answer. Ainsley looked just as concerned as Dani felt, but she quickly adjusted her expression before Malcolm could notice.

“He went to get you some water, Mal. He’ll be back soon.”

Malcolm tilted his head, looking confused. He opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he was still trying to process the information. Finally, he settled on a quiet “Oh.”

Ainsley kept the smile plastered on her face. Dani’s expression wavered, as she looked between her and Maclolm. 

He’s just confused, Dani reminded herself. Judging by the silent looks everyone else in the room were giving each other, she knew they were all thinking the same thing. 

Or at least trying to convince themselves of the same thing. 

The room became engulfed in silence, as everyone waited to see if Malcolm was going to say anything else. Jessica stood up from her chair and walked over to him, bending down slightly so she could run her hand through his hair. “Maybe you should get some rest, sweetheart?” She looked up from her son to address the room. “He’s been having trouble sleeping. Between the pain and his normal insomnia...He’s just tired.”

The rest of the people in the room nodded. It was clear Jessica was doing everything she could to convince herself that Malcolm was okay, that it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. Edrisa looked over at JT and Dani, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. Dani knew she just wanted to help, but the last thing Jessica or Ainsley needed to hear right now was something about post traumatic amnesia, so she shot her a look telling her to keep quiet. 

Finally, Ainsley spoke up, the exaggerated smile still on her lips. “Yeah, Mal. Just try to get some sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted by now. We’ll wake you up when Gil comes back with your water.” 

Malcolm nodded again, his reactions just getting slower and slower. Ainsley prayed it just meant he was falling asleep. But suddenly Malcolm’s face grew pale and his brows knitted together in concern. Ainsley noticed his eyes were welling up with tears and that look of confusion was back on his face.

“Where’s Gil?”

\--------------------------------

“Memory problems...are to be expected.” 

Malcolm pursed his lips together, as if he didn’t fully believe what the doctor was saying. On his left side, his mother was squeezing his hand so tightly, it was making his broken finger ache. He didn’t tell her to stop; he knew she drew comfort from it and he didn’t want her to worry more than she already was.

“Traumatic brain injuries often impact a person's short term memory,” Doctor Clayborne continued, addressing both Malcolm and Jessica and Gil and Ainsley, who were standing on the other side of the bed. “It’s going to take some time for it to completely recover.” She turned back to look at Malcolm. “Do you remember anything from the assault itself?”

Gil immediately tensed up. They still hadn’t told Malcolm any more details about what happened and he hadn’t brought it up since Edrisa, JT, and Dani left a few hours ago. Malcolm seemed much more aware now and when Ainsley told him he had been repeating himself, he had grown concerned quickly. 

Malcolm shook his head slowly, being careful of the tube that was still inserted in his scalp. “Not really...Just a figure looming over me. And a lot of pain.” 

And my father. Malcolm stopped himself from vocalizing that thought. He hadn’t seen his father since he regained his ability to speak and he wasn’t about to bring it up and worry his family any more now. He just had to hope that those hallucinations had been the product of recent head trauma and a lot of sedatives. 

“That’s also completely normal,” Doctor Clayborne assured, jotting down some notes on the chart she was carrying. “In all likelihood, you’re never going to fully remember what happened around the time of the injury. But, hopefully, the issues you’re having with short term memory will resolve on their own. In the meantime, we can start writing down important information so that…”

Malcolm stopped listening. Partially because his attention span was still so short, but mostly because he didn’t want to think about the effects he knew his brain injury was having on him. It had been the one thing he didn’t want to think about; what kind of permanent issues would he have to deal with after this? He and his family had been so excited that he could simply talk and move his legs that they hadn’t even considered any kind of cognitive or emotional impacts. 

Malcolm leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes, hoping that the four other people in the room would take the hint and go outside so they wouldn’t keep him up. Normally, sleep wouldn’t be a reprieve for him, but now he felt so exhausted and confused and overwhelmed that anything else sounded better by comparison. Gil or his mother would just have to tell him everything that the doctor said later.

He just hoped his father wouldn’t be waiting for him when he finally fell asleep.

\--------------------------------

“I brought you some magazines from mom’s house.” Ainsley plopped the stack of glossy pages on the foot of Malcolm’s bed, before turning back to keep rummaging through the tote bag that was swung over her shoulder. “I promise it’s only like, 40% Vogue, there’s definitely some New Yorkers in there and I think I saw Time? Anyway, I also have books that I grabbed from your loft. You have way too many by the way, I had no idea what to grab so I hope you haven’t read Experiment, Design, and Statistics in Psychology or Vold’s Theoretical Criminology: Seventh Edition. They both sound like page turners.” 

Malcolm chuckled softly as Ainsley set the books and some other things she brought from his apartment on the bedside table. Between the “Get Well Soon” cards from the team had brought when they visited yesterday and a flower arrangement his mother had bought him to “brighten up the room” it was becoming rather crowded. “I don’t know if reading is the best activity for me at the moment. Vold is hard enough to follow without a brain injury.” Malcolm’s attention span was still nowhere near where it used to be and it was still hard to keep his mind from wandering. Combined with the memory issues he’d been having, it had made reading...frustrating to say the least. 

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else to do in the hospital besides wait for another neuro check, watch tv, try to sleep, and try to convince his mother to stop hovering. So when Ainsley had offered to go pick up some things he could use to entertain himself with, Malcolm had readily accepted. 

“Well, I also have some videos of Sunshine from this morning,” Ainsley said, holding out her phone and shaking it from side to side as if she were teasing him. 

“Now that, I can do.” Malcolm was missing his bird terribly, but at least he knew she was being well taken care of. Dani had been dropping by his loft to feed her while Ainsley had been in the hospital 24/7 those first few days, but now the two of them were taking turns. “I hope she still recognizes me.”

“As long as you don’t shave off the rest of your hair,” Ainsley replied, pointing to his head with one hand as she scrolled through her phone with the other. “Oh you’ll love this one, Sunshine flew into-”

Ainsley stopped as she noticed Malcolm suddenly stiffen. His breathing hitched and his entire body tensed up. “Mal, are you okay?”

She had barely gotten the question out when Malcolm began convulsing violently. His entire body was shaking; his head jumped off the pillow and his left arm began flying around. His eyes were open, but Ainsley could tell he was completely unaware of what was going on. 

Ainsley stood there shocked for a moment, barely stopping herself from reaching out and grabbing her brother. It was terrifying to see, but she knew she had to get him help. 

Two nurses rushed in seconds after Ainsley hit the call button. She instinctively stepped back to allow them room to work, still in shock at what she was watching.

Malcolm’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. Ainsley felt helpless. Was he dying? He couldn’t be dying, she was just talking to him! He was sitting up and speaking less than a minute ago!

“He’s seizing,” one of the nurses announced, her tone serious, but collected. “Help me get him on his side.”

As the two nurses rolled Malcolm on to his left side, Ainsely rushed over and bent down next to the bed so she could be eye level with him. Even with such a vacant expression, she could sense the fear radiating behind his eyes. It was even harder to watch up close, as Malcolm kept thrashing, each movement more violent than the last. 

“It’s okay, Mal. You’re fine.” Ainsley knew he couldn’t hear her and, in all honesty, the words were more to comfort herself. But still, she needed to do something other than just watch her brother struggle. She wanted to reach out and give him a hug, but she knew she couldn’t and that just upset her all the more. 

The world around Ainsley seemed to move in slow motion, as she just stared at her brother, tears falling down her face. She vaguely heard a nurse call out for ten milligrams of phenytoin and the other nurse taking a syringe and inserting something into Malcolm’s IV. His twitching started to become less violent until he finally relaxed, his head going slack against the pillow. Ainsley let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as the nurses carefully moved Malcolm onto his back again. His eyes were open, but they still looked empty and it was clear he had no idea what was going on. 

“We’re going to go get Doctor Clayborne,” one of the nurses said, sympathetically. “Seizures are unfortunately fairly common after a brain injury like Malcolm’s, but they’re treatable. Hopefully this is the only one he’ll have.”

“Common.” “Normal.” Ainsley was getting really tired of hearing those words used to describe what her brother was going through. He was too nauseous to keep down anything other than water, he couldn't remember where Gil had gone after he stepped out for less than a minute, and now he was having seizures? None of it was normal. Or at least none of it _had_ been normal, less than a week ago.

But now, she was terrified that this was what normal was going to be for Malcolm from now on. 

Ainsley finally nodded, biting back her frustration. It wasn’t the nurses fault. They were just doing their jobs. When she heard the door finally close, she started crying, letting the tears that had already been falling now come out as sobs. She bent down over Malcolm’s still figure and cupped his face in her hands. Being mindful of the bruises that were still coloring his skin, she ran her fingers in comforting circles on his cheeks until his eyes finally closed. She just prayed that he would be okay when he woke up, that this wouldn’t send him back to how he was just a few days ago, unable to speak or move.

Her mother and Gil would be back soon. They’d be furious that she didn’t call them the second the seizure started, but for now Ainsley couldn’t bring herself to go grab her phone. She needed to be there for her brother. 

“It’s okay, Malcolm. You’re going to be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Tumblr is @ malclombright if you want to come talk about Ainsley's character development and/or cry about the fact that we still don't have a renewal announcement.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am still alive. I really don't like this chapter (which is why it took 20 years). Think of it as more of a transition to the second half of the story. Hope you enjoy!

This time, Malcolm woke up all at once.

There was no slowly forcing his eyes open or feeling like he was swimming to the surface. It was just one second he was asleep, and the next he felt a huge pressure on top of him.

“Ainsely!” Malcolm immediately recognized his mother’s voice. And she did not sound happy. “You’re going to crush him!”

The pressure slowly moved off him to reveal his sisters face right in front of him. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her hands still on his shoulders, as if she was afraid if she let go, he’d float away. “I saw your eyes open and I got excited. We were worried.”

“About what?” Malcolm asked. His mind felt disoriented, even with such a quick awakening. Even though he assumed he had just taken a nap, he was exhausted. 

Ainsley and his mother shared a look. Malcolm nearly sighed audibly; he knew this look. Something had happened when he was unconscious. Ainsley spoke up, with an assurance that told Malcolm she had been the one there when it happened. “You had a seizure.”

“Which the doctor insured us was perfectly normal!” Jessica was quick to butt it. Malcolm hadn’t even processed Ainsley’s admission, before his mother was rambling on, loudly so he couldn’t focus. “It’s nothing to worry about, dear. They’re giving you medication so it won’t happen again.”

“A seizure?” Malcolm had been through a lot this past week, but that threw him through a loop. He tried to remember what he had been doing before he’d woken up, but his mind was coming up blank.

“It wasn’t that bad, darling.” Jessica was quick to soothe and try to minimize the damage. Ainsley’s face betrayed the fear both of them felt. “And it’s not going to happen again-”

“You don’t KNOW that!” Malcolm practically shouted.

Jessica stopped and looked over to Ainsley, who seemed just as surprised at Malcolm’s outburst. He had barely been able to speak above a whisper lately, but this was said with all of force he could muster. “You heard what the doctor said. It could be permanent. The memory loss could be permanent. I haven’t even tried getting out of bed yet and you’re acting like everything is fine and normal!”

“Malcolm,” Ainsley interjected, sensing how offended and distraught their mother was becoming. “She’s just trying-”

“Go away, both of you,” Malcolm said, bringing up his left hand to bury his face in it. “Please, I just need to be alone.”  
Ainsley wasted no time in getting her mother out of the room, ignoring Jessica’s protests. She knew if Malcolm was asking for it, he needed some alone time. 

The tears she heard behind her as she closed the door just further confirmed it. 

\----------------

After the seizure and Malcolm’s outburst, Ainsley felt like things couldn’t get any worse. But of course, the universe was desperate to torture her family in every way possible. She felt guilty enough over her father's crimes, and she knew Malcolm felt even worse, so was all this karmic punishment really necessary? 

They had taken out Malcolm’s feeding tube, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience for anyone, least of all Malcolm. His nausea had only gotten worse since his seizure, and it seemed like he could keep nothing down. 

After throwing up two different dinners, the nurse said they’d stop for the night and try again tomorrow. He couldn’t even keep water down. And Ainsley had to be the one staying up with him and helping him sit up when he needed to vomit.

She sighed as she pressed a cold compress against Malcolm’s forehead, being careful to avoid any stitches or cuts still left. They had pulled down all the curtains and turned off the lights to try and deal with the horrible headaches he was experiencing. Ainsley was just grateful he’d moved down to the recovery wing and they didn’t have to deal with nurses coming in every fifteen minutes like they had in the neuro ICU. 

The pain and nausea had kept Malcolm up for the past 24 hours and Ainsley felt like falling apart just seeing how weak and tired he looked. He’d only been in the hospital for around 10 days, but he had already lost a few noticeable pounds, making his cheekbones stick out more prominently. 

“Thanks, Ains,” he mumbled, mouth and throat dry from vomiting and lack of water. 

“Of course, Malcolm. Gil should be here soon. This case is really taking up a lot of his time.”

Malcolm frowned at the mention of work and Ainsley quickly tried to change the subject. “Feeling any better?”

He gave her a weak thumbs up. “Top of the world.” 

Ainsley was about to laugh when Malcolm’s face fell. He somehow became even more pale and began shaking. 

She knew what was about to happen and was well prepared. She grabbed the plastic bin that was sitting on the bedside table and helped Malcolm up. He immediately started vomiting, and Ainsley tried her best to keep him upright. She rubbed his back in comforting circles, hoping it would get through to him. 

“I’m sorry, Mal. I promise it’ll be better soon.”

\--------------------------------

For possibly the first time ever, Malcolm didn’t want to get out of the hospital bed.

Normally he was dying to get up, sign some AMA forms and leave. But he still felt so exhausted and confused, the thought of just sitting up, never mind standing and walking, sounded like torture. 

But apparently, his neurosurgeon had cleared him to start working with a physical therapist, so here he was, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, with Gil doing his best to keep him from slouching over. On his right, was his physical therapist, Naomi. She was the only one of the three that was smiling.

“We’re going to go slow,” she promised, holding her arms around his waist. “Just to the chair.” The chair she was referring to was less than two yards away, settled in the left hand corner of the room, but from Malcolm’s perspective, it was like she was asking him to do a mile lap around the entire hospital. 

He hadn’t gotten out of bed in nearly two weeks. He’d only been able to support himself in a sitting position recently. But, according to his doctor, Malcolm actually should have started getting up sooner and it would be best if they started right away. Meaning about three hours after his doctor checked in on him in the morning.

“You got this, kid,” Gil encouraged Malcolm from his left side. “The sooner you start walking, the sooner you can leave his place.” He put on a smile but Malcolm just replied with a look of exhaustion. He wanted to go home, he wanted to go back to work, but he didn’t know if doing this was worth it. He’d been up all night getting sick and even with all the pain killers he was on, his head was throbbing. It didn’t help that this morning he had asked his mother the same question three times before Ainsley gently pointed it out to him. He just wanted to lay back down. 

“1, 2, 3,” Naomi said with a smile as she and Gil helped Malcolm to his feet. His knees immediately began to shake. He would have lost his balance if it weren’t for the two people next to him and the gait belt wrapped around his waist. Malcolm’s vision immediately became spotted, his stomach lurched, and his head felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to it. He did his best to hide the pain but a groan escaped his lips. 

Naomi ignored it, as if that would make any of this easier. “Now just take one step forward.”

Malcolm knew walking after so long in bed would be painful, but he hadn’t realized just how much it would hurt. He tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t seem to help him much. He pulled his right arm, which was now in a sling, closer to his chest as he stumbled forward with something that could barely count as a step. 

“Great job, kid!” Gil exclaimed, like Malcolm was 12 again and showing off his report card. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

Malcolm continued on for nearly five minutes before finally collapsing on the chair. He was breathing so heavily that Naomi had to get him some water and he was drenched in sweat. 

Naomi smiled and told him what a great job he did. “Just try to stay sitting up in the chair for 30 minutes now. I’ll check back on you then.” 

As she left, Gil got closer and wrapped Malcolm into a half hug, being careful of his right arm. Malcolm leaned into the contact, exhaustion radiating off him. Everything was sore and he felt strangely light headed. He couldn’t help the tears that trickled from his eyes, soaking Gil’s shoulder. It was like he was 11 years old and having a nightmare again. Malcolm immediately recoiled in embarrassment, wiping his eyes with his good arm and hoping his cheeks weren’t burning red. Gil seemed to sense how Malcolm was feeling, because he didn’t acknowledge the tears. 

“Told you you could do it,” Gil said, giving Malcolm’s shoulder a soft push. “Your mother will be so proud when she sees you.” 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said, his eyes looking around the room. He couldn’t focus on the small victory. 

He could only think about how far the walk back to the bed would be. 

\--------------------------------

Malcolm looked at the papers in front of him like they were written in another language. He squinted his eyes at the words, as if that would make them clearer, and tilted his head trying to decipher each sentence. 

They were discharge papers. Doctor Clayborne had set them down on the tray on his bed that was already overflowing with glasses of water and paperback novels his sister kept buying from the hospital gift shop to occupy her time. It hurt his head to read the print, especially with the doctor rambling on in the background.

“You just need to sign here, and you’ll be all set. Your discharge date is tomorrow morning. There’s also information about follow up appointments and physical therapy for your arm. You’re going to be seeing me every week for the next month, just to make sure there are no complications…”

Doctor Clayborne’s voice became background noise, as Malcolm focused on the pages in front of him. He’d been in the hospital for two and a half weeks now and he didn’t necessarily remember all of it. Details were hazy, especially from when he first woke up. And now he was going home. He felt like he should be excited, but he just felt uncertain. 

“Isn’t that great, Malcolm?” He was taken out of his thoughts with a tight squeeze to his left wrist. Ainsley was beaming ear to ear, looking cheerful enough for the both of them. Across the room, Jessica and Gil gave him looks of encouragement. “Finally, you don’t have to eat jello for every meal!”

Malcolm gave his family a small smile, as Doctor Clayborne exited, promising to be back tomorrow. The silence this left almost immediately became uncomfortable.

Malcolm still didn’t know any details about the assault itself. Every time he tried to ask what was happening with the case, Gil or his mother changed the subject. And now he was going home, and he still knew nothing. It was frustrating, feeling so out of the loop, like everyone around him was treating him with kid gloves. Feeling exhausted by the conversation, Malcolm looked back down at the papers.

And he realized he didn’t remember what they were for. 

\--------------------------------

Malcolm felt the cool Fall air rush over his face and he quickly reached to fumble with the buttons on his jacket, finding it difficult with just one hand. He hadn’t been outside in over a week and if he wasn’t in a wheelchair he thought the experience might knock him to the ground. Gil was pushing him, while Jessica was calling for Adolpho to bring the car around and Ainsley walked beside him, trying to convince him for the hundredth time to come stay at their mother’s house for now.

“Your loft is like the worst place you could be right now! It’s all stairs and hard edges. How are you even going to get up there?”

“I didn’t break my legs, Ains.”

“Oh, that reminds me. You can’t use your right arm! But yeah, why bother spending your time recovering in a mansion where you don’t have to lift a finger when you can just struggle to open your pain killers at your place?” She hesitated and then, in a half joking voice, she leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Is this about Sunshine? I know mom isn’t a fan of her but I promise I won’t take that bird out of my sight while she’s around.”

“Ainsley, we already had this argument,” Gil pointed out. “ Bright gets to stay at his place, one of us gets to stay with him during the day to help him out.” 

Malcolm hadn’t really been enthusiastic about that second part, but it was between that and staying with his mother and her insisting on hiring a full time nurse. 

“The offer still stands, dear,” his mother called from in front of them. “I don’t understand why you want to spend your time recovering in that dreary apartment.” 

“Speaking of recovery,” Malcolm started, flinching his head as he turned to face Gil. “The doctors estimate I can start working in six weeks-”

“We’ll talk about that later, Bright. All that matters right now is you resting.” 

And adjusting, Malcolm thought, slightly bitterly. He was still at risk for seizures and his short term memory still failed him on occasion. Plus there was the whole “only one functioning arm” thing.

They finally reached the curb as Adolpho pulled the car up. Malcolm braced himself to stand up, leaning on Gil more than he cared to admit while getting into the back seat. Ainsley followed him in, squeezing him against the door on the other side. Jessica followed and Gil got in the passenger seat. “Well,” his mother started. “This is cause for celebration!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Malcolm replied, turning himself so he could see Gil. “Are you finally going to talk to me about my case?”

The mood in the car immediately shifted from optimistic to dreadful. “Kid...we’ll talk about it when you get settled.” 

Malcolm knew Gil was lying, just trying to buy time and hoping he’d drop the subject. But Malcolm also knew the second he had a moment alone, he was finding out the whole story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, the name "Abigail" means "my father's joy" so make of that what you will.


End file.
